The Lament of Phile  Redux
by TeaMonster
Summary: City life and society, the infamous war and subsequent aftermath as seen through the eyes of the 'other' woman in Crown Prince Hector of Troy's life ...
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**_

_Well, it's been a very long time in the works ... six years in fact! I have been trying to re-write - and in my eyes improve - my original 'Lament of Phile' first posted here in 2005._

_In my mind, there was just too much else to say, other events dramas that happened to Phile, more characters she encountered! What has been flourishing in my imagination has proved hard to get onto paper (the usual - writer's block, losing Phile's 'voice', having to actually go to work in an office to earn my crust which uses up my precious writing time!)._

_**A Request**_

_I was going to post this story when completed as I did last time but seeing as I am going in two speeds with this at the moment (stop and slow) I thought I would start posting as I go along and ask the readers for feedback/comment which will spur me on to write. If I know someone is actually reading, it will inspire me to pull my finger out and really tell Phile's story as it lives within me (I've had to take down the original as looking at the FF Terms and Conditions, I am unable to 'double post' original work)._

_So please - read, leave comments/feedback/death threats, let me know you are out there and want (or not want to!) read more. I am by no means a praise 'ho(although it does make me fuzzywuzzywarm) so be honest. I have had no beta, so critique away!_

_**Disclaimer**_

_It goes without saying that this story is not trying to be historically accurate, be completely true to the film or represent any of the characters in Homer's original tales. I merely present to you the universe that now exists in my head._

_So, here we go - 'The Lament of Phile' (Redux)_

-0-

My name is Phile. In my native tongue it means 'to love' – and love I did.

My language survives but my home did not. It was destroyed by the enemy. I remember when the first of their ships were sighted on the horizon – most had menacing sails, adorned with tribal symbols. They billowed in the ill-fated wind that bought them closer to us; faster to us. I could see the huge staring eyes painted on the brow of each ship from where I stood. The invading foreigners apparently believed in them for protection and for luck - but to me, right from that moment, they were demon's eyes. These ships were the first of hundreds that soon beached on the golden sands of Besika Bay, a once tranquil spot where the rising sun would kiss the gently lapping shores with its golden light. The encampment that sprung up there soon after the enemy landed seemed to desecrate the landscape; rows of wood, rope and canvas as far as the eye could reach, blocking my view of the glittering Aegean Sea and making any escape seem virtually impossible.

A huge bronze bell, one that was almost as old as city wall itself was already sounding the alarm. The high north tower where it was housed had always been peaceful in the relatively short years that I had resided in my beloved city. Although I only ever heard its sound once, I can recall it so clearly. I can still feel its foreboding clang echo through my bones, shaking my stomach to sickness.

Watching from the balcony beyond my chamber at the palace, I could see everything unfold.

Before I finish explaining all this, you must try to imagine the splendour of the place that once called my home. Geographically speaking, it was located at the southern entrance to the Dardanelles, a narrow strait linking the Black Sea with the Aegean via Marmara**. **

In short, it was a rich and sprawling mercantile city encircled by a fortified, high wall.

Since our location allowed for complete control of the Dardanelles through which every merchant ship from the Aegean heading for the Black Sea had to pass, much of our great wealth came from levying tolls on the many trading vessels and merchant travellers that had to take this route. Moreover, our great _power_ came because we controlled the lucrative copper trade, an important commodity, used to manufacture bronze. However, our powerful involvement in trade and the influx of copper was not all we were renowned for. Housed inside our walls were great weaving halls for the manufacture of some of the finest fabrics known to man, woven from raw materials that came to us from the east. Lastly, my people were famed for being excellent horse-breakers – only the most discerning (and rich) purchaser would come to us looking for a steed as they were reputed to be the best horses in the world.

The palace, my home, stood majestically on a hill overlooking the buzzing, beautiful city. It was a massive, imposing building cornered with four towers and it had a smaller fortified wall all of its own. It was constructed from light sandstone so when our patron god Apollo lifted the sun high in the sky, the walls seemed to shine like pure gold. Inside it was a maze of windows, pillars, steps and statues. I loved the beautiful, hidden gardens inside the palace, particularly the South Courtyard where I could often be found in the daytime eating the figs from the trees or cooling my toes in the soothing waters of the fountains, perhaps in the evening sitting under the large laurel tree, taking in the heady scent of the white magnolias as I watched the myriad of tiny stars seem to quiver in the dark sky.

Flags relentlessly flew from the high turrets of the four towers, bearing the insignia of the horse, a symbol of our city. There was always a wind blowing across the sea and over the beach, the flat plains and into the city, which I suppose some may have found irritating - but I always found the sound of it whistling around the city walls and through the vein-like streets comforting. It was the unmistakable sound of home. Sometimes these winds brought a welcome respite from the heat Apollo had gifted us with. It was always hot in my country; the sun baked our buildings and tanned our skins but we were used to it of course, generations of my countrymen had lived like it and we had adapted long ago - our windows were designed to catch the breeze and our clothes were loose and airy. Any activity tended to take place in the morning and late afternoon – the hot midday was the perfect time to take a good meal and leisurely rest until the sun began to dip and the air was cooler. It was all so different from where I live now.

The wall was there to protect us, not contain us. We made good use of not just the docks but our surrounding lands. Just outside near the sea stood the sacred temple of Apollo, which glinted like a beacon on the beach, welcoming soldiers and merchants home from a treacherous journey on Poseidon's waves. The river Scamander, sacred to us, wound like a serpent from deep inland at Mount Ida, past the city walls and down towards the sea. When I was a child, my father would take me for walks there to watch the waters flow and see the little fish riding on its current. It would make me feel serene and content as I watched their little silver bodies silently wriggle and glide under the surface. This river also sustained many smaller Trojan provinces, villages really. These mostly consisted of farms that provided the city with grain for bread and beer, grapes for wine and cattle, goats and sheep for meat. Despite for the odd drought over the years, we ate well.

When the enemy ships came and the bell rang out clearly over the city I watched the townspeople who filled the narrow streets below scatter, very much like ants in a disturbed nest. They packed away their market stalls, shooed their playing children into their little homes, rounded up their chickens and goats - people were panicking, momentarily anyway. But in truth most were not intimidated by the hundreds of ships, a foolish arrogance and an underestimation of the enemy. You see, in the in the past many nations had come before to try to topple the protective fortifications and invade the city, the city of Troy (some may know it as Ilion or Wilusa) and they had always failed. The walls were too high and thick, protected by the best army the world had ever known.

But I knew that it was different this time. They were a real threat.

Prince Hector of Troy, heir to the throne and Commander of the army had told me. He had confided his fears to me so I would be ready. Ready to flee Troy if the time came.

A day before the invasion, he had taken me deep into the belly of the palace. It seemed like a long-abandoned corridor which had been recently disturbed - empty spiders webs were torn, broken and floated around our heads as he led me, torch in one hand, his other holding mine. My arm ached as he guided me; his manly strides were huge and all I could do was dawdle along behind him. He had a strange determined stare in his eyes and the orange torchlight flickered on his face, causing odd, moving shadows. He finally halted outside a huge wooden door.

He had not spoken to explain at all during our mysterious trip this so of course I was wondering why he had brought me there. I'm sure he could see the confused look in my eyes as, without a word, he demonstrated his reason by pulling the bolt on the door across with a stiff thud and pushing it open with some considerable effort. The hinges creaked loudly in protest. As he lifted the torch up to the door jamb it was revealed that beyond lay a dark tunnel. He made me tell him if I remembered how to get there. I thought so. His voice rose in impatience, he ordered me to be sure. This had startled me as I did not expect him to speak so indignantly to me – it was unlike him, so I knew then that that something was gravely wrong. I told him I did with a lump in my throat, slightly upset by his cross tone. Luckily, Hector's determined frown softened when he realised he had distressed me. As he affectionately squeezed the hand he still held I asked why he had brought me there. He sighed before he spoke:

"I cannot hide it from you any longer Phile, although I think you realise it already. Men are coming, hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. They come for war with Troy. I will keep the city safe with all the strength I have in my very bones … but if anything should happen to me …"

I was shocked at these revelations. I did not want to believe it to be true although I must admit the threat of an invasion had played my mind since the visit to Sparta some weeks before. I still only a young woman yet during my time at the palace I was certainly not ignorant of politics – let me just say I was happy to live in denial. However, I knew Hector well enough to realise he was deadly serious. I closed my eyes, wishing that he would halt from speaking any further as to imagine the world without him was an unthinkable torture. Denial had seemed an excellent option under the circumstances – yet Hector did not stop talking:

"_If anything should happen to me_…" He reiterated as if to highlight the seriousness of the situation: "…I am not sure how long the walls will hold. You must flee. _Run_. Run to this tunnel, take as many people with you as you can - but make sure you get _out_. It leads to the river. When you get there, follow the river up to the mountains, you will be safe there, I promise you…"

I wasn't his relative, I wasn't his wife. So I suppose you are wondering why he had shared this with me. The uncomplicated answer is that I was Prince Hector's concubine.


	2. Chapter 2

I had been given to Hector before the lunacy of war.

It had been a choice but certainly not an aspiration; it had been the only alternative to a domestic life no girl should have to suffer but sadly, could be all too common in my male-dominated society.

I am not about to unnecessarily seek your pity because there was a period when I _did_ have a content and stable upbringing - although by the time The Fates had suddenly tugged on the thread of my life and swung me into Hector's path, my circumstances had become rather dire. Origins can be cloaked by the marching of time but their value can never be erased, so I will tell you something of my life before I dwelled at the Palace.

I was born to loving parents and raised in a very comfortable, middle-class existence. As an only child, I was doted on and wanted for nothing. My mother - Ariadne, daughter of a prosperous merchant, did not work - there was no reason for her to - as my father, Erymas, earned an excellent wage in the prestigious role of Trojan Army Captain. One of the perks of his occupation had been the opportunity for us to live as part of the Trojan court, however my father chose _not_ to take advantage of this, concluding that his children might have some sense of a regular upbringing away from the pretentions and excessive luxury that tended to be inherent at the Palace.

I was an only child, a fact that was rarely remarked or elaborated upon in our household because when my mother went into labour with me, it had almost killed her. Perhaps my parents did not want their innocent and loved daughter to feel a sense of culpability. All I knew was that since my traumatic birth, my mother's constitution had been weakened and indeed, she was always to me a delicate wisp of a woman to look at. My father always referred to me as his 'little miracle', a nickname I would take for granted – years later, from experience, I painfully realised that this was probably because I was very lucky not to be stillborn. Knowing that he had almost lost the two people most precious to him on this Earth made certain that father absolutely doted on my mother and I and indulged us whenever he saw fit.

Therefore, I was allowed much freedom in my youth, some would say too much for a female. Absent of a son and believing women to be as worthy as men in this world, my father educated me and encouraged me to be comfortable with my own thoughts and opinions.

Instead of sitting quietly at a weaving loom for hours or dutifully learning the intricacies of being the lady of a household, I spent my time finding adventure in the gardens of our villa which lay on the pretty outskirts of one of the richer quarters in the upper town. When I was tired from my day's outdoor amusement, father would gather me on his lap and I and would pretty much mentally devour anything he taught me. He was a great weaver of yarns - tales of far off lands, good kings, evil witches, fierce battles, adventuring wanders, the wrath of the gods and histories of our city. I grew up with an awareness of the world around me, from the tiny insects nestled inside budding plants to the celestial phases of the moon. I was taught to watch everything around me. He would even take me with him, pillion, on horseback which was unusual then, even for a man; most of the time horses were only used to pull chariots, carts and traps. Our destination was often the banks of the river where we would sit quietly, watching the dragonflies perform their impossible-seeming territorial flight stunts over the reeds or the fish constantly battling against the crystal currents of the water. "Everything has a purpose", he would explain, "no matter how small or insignificant it seems and although we may appear to have a choice in this world, all is exactly how the gods intended". Although very young, I would silently wonder then what my own purpose would be.

Mother would despair at my boyishness and indeed I was a skinny little thing, often unkempt, scabby and dirty from playing outdoors. I can clearly recall that she hated to see me sitting astride a pony, calling it dangerous and unladylike. In turn, fearing that the free spirit my father had gifted to me would hinder my prospects in the world, mother tried to teach me the proper manners, speech and posture so I was by no means without all the graces a girl of my standing should have, at least, on the surface. Image was the key to maintaining a high social standing. "How will you ever find a husband, looking like a beggar?" mother would fret. Father would counter with a meaningful look in his soulful eyes: "Phile deserves a man that loves her not just solely for her beauty. Age changes beauty and in the eyes of the shallow, it fades. A man will love her active mind and all her idiosyncrasies for it is those traits last a lifetime." This particular expression of his never failed to melt my mother's conscientious steeliness. It was because father was still madly in love with _her_ beauty, mind and idiosyncrasies.

It makes me smile to remember father and his influence, which was further reaching than I ever could comprehend. You know, some would think his unusual outlook on life made him a Libertarian; therefore it was a surprise to most that he was also a steadfast army man. I suppose it did make him seem like a walking contradiction but to me, there was no conflict of interests between his free-thinking ideals and his commitment to the army. As much as he was learned and held modern values, he loved Troy, whom he said was 'mother to us all'. He would fight fiercely for her when she was in need. It would ultimately be his downfall.

He did not meet his end in a great battle as you may assume; Troy was peaceful at that time and had been for many glorious years. In fact, his mission had been simple and generally routine. Intelligence from small outposts dotted from the City to the Dardanian mountains had reported that a group of Gaul men were pillaging their way through some of Troy's province villages so, reactively, a small band of infantrymen were dispatched to deal these troublemakers. My father had thought nothing of volunteering to protect the lands he so loved.

At this time, there had not been a war on Troy's own shores for nearly seventeen years, although dealing with pirates, bandits, gypsies and the odd group of troublemakers was not an unusual occurrence and easy to police for a small army force. My father was considered a gifted warrior; so much so that he had won the King's good favour and had risen steadily through the ranks to Captain, second only to Commander. During this time of peace, apart from the odd disturbance such as this, he had used his expertise to teach and mentor others. However, he was by no means rusty with a weapon or too old to wield one effectively. Mother and I never worried for his safety. We had no reason to.

Father had told me to "Be good and do exactly as your mother wishes". These were to be his last words to me.

It was just as the days got shorter and the rainy season closed in on the city that we were notified of the grim news. The only thing of him to ever cross the threshold of our house again was his treasured sword, breastplate and battered grieves. They stayed in the hallway for three days whilst my mother took to her bed, weeping and sickening for him. I was fourteen and although old _enough_, I did not understand the enormity of what had happened.

It wasn't actually that long before I came to live at the palace that I had finally stopped waiting for father to return. I did not believe he was dead, I assumed a grave error had been made. Can any child ever imagine their parents as anything but immortal? Every year toward the end of the summer as the rains came, I would watch the plains closely for a chariot appearing on the horizon, one I believed would carry my father home. Of course it never materialised. How I missed him. I became withdrawn, quiet. Gone was the little girl full of wonder for the world.

Mother was not a widow for long. The large sum of money the royal family had generously awarded to us for reparation meant she was a very attractive prospect to many eager suitors. I do not know whether it was grief, loneliness or concern for an uncertain future that influenced her rather hasty decision to remarry, only a few months after my father's untimely demise. I was not angry at her. Being a lone woman – or women – at that time could be a dangerous thing; abduction and rape was not uncommon enough. I suppose I was grudgingly appreciative for the protection that having another man around the house would provide for us both but sadly, it quickly transpired that the person we would need safeguarding from the most _was_ my stepfather.

I do not care to dwell on stepfather too much. I do not wish to remember the wicked bastard. What I will mention is that when this slight, long-faced man first began wooing my mother, he was charm personified, full of wondrous promises and thoughtful gifts which I am not ashamed admit flattered us both. It was only when he legally became my mother's new husband and my guardian that he showed his true, rotten colours.

His name, which still feels like a poison rolling over my tongue, was Sophus. He told us he was a lonely widow and the owner of four weaving houses, mostly located in the province villages where he could ensure inexpensive quality fabric production by using retired and experienced weavers who were happy to take a little extra work and resulting income to supplement their 'Autumn years'. In reality and hindsight of course, Sophus probably – if at all - ran one dirty, cramped factory that was basically akin to slave labour. He was nothing but a chancer, a rogue who I doubt ever kept a woman for a few weeks before he became bored of her (or bled her dry of her wealth), certainly not long enough to be married, let alone a widow. The lure of my mother, still a fine woman for her age with wealthy financial assets must have been irresistible for such a villain.

Sophus did behave himself rather well during the first few weeks of marriage to my mother, or at least managed to conceal his true nature anyway. He was away from home quite often, 'inspecting' his imaginary weaving empire. Of course, now I know he was simply travelling from tavern to tavern, betting, drinking and whoring my mother's money away – but at the time, we did not suspect a thing. His return was akin to welcoming another person into the house: an evil twin, a two-headed serpent. Gone was the polite, neat and respectable man; in his place arrived a rude, scruffy monster. He was merciless with that lashing tongue of his and seemed to believe he should rule the household with a fist of iron. He took total control of the family coffers (which, being my mother's new husband, he was legally entitled to do) and did not even attempt to hide his ever-continuing gambling, drinking and whoring habits. It got to the point when we could only afford meat for the table once a week and were forced to let most of the servants go, we could no longer afford their wages, let alone feed and clothe them too. Our cherished villa, our beloved family home, fell into dilapidation.

Soon, we were even forced to sell precious family mementos just to have enough to spend on sustenance for ourselves. Perhaps the saddest moment for me in this particular chapter of my past was the moment a merchant from Abydus came our shell of a house to collect the tapestry he had arranged to purchase from us. The item probably held more value to my family for sentimental reasons compared to how much it was a worth in trade, for it had been made in honour of my father's victory at a wrestling tournament when he was a young man. He had beaten Leontiskos of Messene, a noted champion (and sneaky finger-bender, so father recounted). Mother had been a spectator of this this match, it was how she first came to notice father, so impressed she was at his strength and integrity. She had later created the tapestry to commemorate his triumph, had sewn it with such a careful, delicate and practiced hand that I can even remember the purple picked out on his girdle. My mother had no qualms about selling her jewelry, some of the finer robes from her closet or even a few pieces from my father's collection of curios and knick-knaks which he had picked up from his travels over the years – but the tapestry was much more than a mere object. Mother had spent many months toiling at the likeness of my father and within every stitch was woven her devotion to him. Sadly, to sell it was a necessity. I would not even see the merchant - stubborn as a mule, I had locked myself away in my room and cried angry tears all morning. Unlike me, as the merchant carefully rolled his purchase for transport to the docks (he intended to sell it overseas), Mother remained stoic rather than full of self-pity. She knew the price she had bartered would feed us for well over a week and that my father would have forgiven her - he would have argued against the function of such an object when the owner is in too ill of health through starvation to admire it. Mother's strength in adversity, her natural ability to hold her head up high is something I have always strived to live up to.

Thus continued the pattern of our life. Mother and I desperately tried to keep the house respectable but it was _impossible_ with just the two pairs of hands. This (amongst most things) aggravated Sophus, who still expected fine meals, sumptuous surroundings and a dutiful wife in his bed every night. He would simply refuse to recognise our sorry predicament as being his responsibility. What an impossible situation! His frustration and slow-burning loathing soon began rear its ugly head in the form of physical force towards my mother. Our once-loved family home became a prison of fear.

Sophus only skill seemed to be causing bruising and injury in places prying eyes could not see, therefore our neighbours and the traders who came to call saw no cause for alarm and indeed, the cheerful persona my mother portrayed in public also countered what was going on behind closed doors. I watched everything as my father had taught me. Mother would suffer very much in private but every bruise, every silent tear and every shred of will Sophus knocked out of her did not go uncounted by me. As the tally rose, the more fantasies I would play out in my head about driving a knife into his chest, ridding us – and the world – of such a plague. My mother, perhaps fearing that as my father's daughter l would channel his overwhelming sense of honour and justice, implored me never to take action. I had to obey her, remembering "Do exactly as your mother wishes".

My experiences violently thrust me into the terrible male world; up until then I took for granted that all men were infinitely good, kind and worthy like my father, for he was the only one I truly knew. Sophus made me realise father was the exception rather than the norm. As I grew up, I found myself wary of men who became, to me, self-interested, piggish bullies to be instantly distrusted.

Everything changed, not long after my nineteenth summer. I was of course not yet married, nor had I any interested suitors who had come to call on me – the family no longer had any kind of wealth which made me an asset and nor did I have a paternal figure to recommend me or introduce me to court, as was always planned when father was still alive. Marriage had not even crossed my mind. Whilst most of my peers were already now wives with adult responsibilities and producing screaming broods, I was, by all intents and purposes, in a condition of child-like stasis.

It was almost time for me to mature, and I had to do so quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note**_

_Okay, well this chapter has proved to be a little problematic! I have been re-reading and adding to this so much my eyes have gone square. I am not even certain that the latter part makes much sense! Oh well, I though **** it, post it anyway!_

-0-

I sensed that the messenger approached even before he could be seen through the leafy, overgrown cypresses that lined the avenue up to our door. It was the little bells I could hear, they were hung from the chariot he rode upon and were even attached to the bridle of his fine horse. They jangled brightly, announcing his arrival, a cheerful noise that cut through the grey, misty air of a world just awakening. By the time he had pulled the handsome beast to a halt in the courtyard of our villa, mother and I had abandoned the parlour and (I am ashamed to say), were literally gawping at our visitor from the front window of the reception room, partially concealed behind the drapes in the way in which children hide from strangers behind their mother's skirts.

The man immediately reminded me of a bird of prey – posture straight and alert, his movements small, jerky and precise. He briefly looked about himself with a somewhat blank, professionally unreadable expression as he took a thick, yellow parchment scroll from where it was stored in his left belled sleeve. Pausing for a few seconds to give his greying temple a scratch, he quickly undid the ribbon tie and unrolled it, appearing to check the details it must have contained against his whereabouts. Finally satisfied he had made no mistake (it seemed unlikely to me that this man _ever_ made an error), he deftly rolled the scroll back up, tied the ribbon with a quickly flick of his wrist and set forward to knock on our front door.

I was in awe of his grand appearance which definitely denoted how official his position was. He wore a formal Peplos robe, an intricately folded garment of a rich green, almost the same deep colour as the ivy that recklessly climbed the back wall to our villa. His long woollen cloak was luxurious, lined with sable fur. Peeking out from these layers of expensive fabric was a gold pendant, hung around his neck on a very weighty looking chain. It clearly bore, in relief, an insignia of concentric circles. This was familiar to me, yet I could not place it. Mother, however, immediately knew of its meaning.

"He's from the palace!" she hissed through her teeth as she turned to me, her delicate hand raised to her throat in alarm. Her rapid, panicked heartbeats caused her fingers to flutter there and I thought she might faint if it was not for her weary eyes, so wide and unblinking.

My own heart felt like it had sunk somewhere past my knees. What had Stepfather done now?

Mentally, my mother pulled herself together in a matter of seconds and had already donned her public mask in readiness for the visitor. I watched as she ironed out the creases from her plain gown using her palms and then hurriedly tried to tame her loose, silvering hair without so much as a pin or clip to hand. She pinched at her own cheeks to pinken her sallow pallor and smoothed out the arcs of her thin eyebrows with her fingertips. Her eyes flickered to me, I suppose expecting that I was similarly primping myself into some sort of respectability but she was to be disappointed. Mother sighed in exasperation as she took in the state of me, barefoot with my thick, wavy dark hair straggling down my back and my gown without a girdle to pull it into my waist, which made the sheer linen billow out around me like a cloud. "You look like you are wearing a sack, Phile!" she rolled her eyes at me reprovingly, knowing that it was too late to do anything about it now.

I suppressed delight at her comment. Displaying myself was the last thing I had wanted to achieve as I had not so much blossomed but exploded from child to woman. Although I remained petite in height, my breasts were full, my hips wide and my bottom round. My narrow waist did nothing but highlight all these traits. I noticed that strange men would stare at me in the street; worst of all Sophus was starting to gaze at my body in a way I can only describe as indecent. I felt like an oddity with all this sudden and unwanted attention.

Yet it ran even more deep than that. My metamorphosing body was a constant reminder of impending change, an uncertain future and the person I was expected to be – I was fearful of leaving mother alone, of being married off to some chauvinistic tyrant, spawning baby after baby until my body and mind were spent. Childhood, on the other hand, to me meant comfort – a sensation that held ringing echoes of my father's unconditional love. Father had only known me as a child so to step into adulthood was also taking a shaky leap away from him. How I wished he was still there to advise and protect me.

Two sharp raps at the door quickly followed before mother could nag me further. She greeted the visitor with such calm and professional warmth, even I was surprised. Once upon a time, she had been a very apt hostess and it seems that it was a knack that had not deserted her. With all the courtesy she could muster, mother warmly invited the man inside our home as it would have been the height of rudeness to keep him at the threshold. To his credit, he graciously accepted, tactfully not staring or remarking on our sparse and scruffy reception room.

I stayed quietly attentive in the background as was befitting my station. Mother offered to see to his horse and enquired whether he would care for refreshment, so quickly in her anxiety that the words tumbled out of her mouth seemingly in less than two breaths. The man politely declined with a raise of his even palm, assuring us that his would be a short visit.

"Can I see the gentleman of the household?" he asked suddenly, even before mother could offer him a seat in the parlour. Time, that constant traveller, seemed to suddenly halt.

Before she could even respond to his request, the man wasted no time in producing the scroll from his sleeve. I saw a shrouded fear in mother's eyes. She looked to the ominous roll of parchment and quite unexpectedly, dropped to her knees, bowing submissively before our visitor.

She had assumed that the scroll contained a royal warrant for Sophus' arrest.

"My husband is still asleep" she informed the man quietly without looking into his stern, smooth face. Sophus was indeed festering in bed, sleeping off the excesses of the previous night. He wouldn't surface until the afternoon.

I sighed heavily. It was only a matter of time, I supposed, before Sophus' greater indignities failed to go unnoticed. Of course, it would have been an absolute blessing for him to be imprisoned, kept away from mother and me. Yet what had made mother so desperate was the inevitable public shame this would bring upon the family, moreover to be branded a disgrace by the _palace_ - it was all too much for her to bear. It pained me to see my beloved mother so distressed, she had already endured so much. She looked very frail I realised then, the thin skin on her back that was pulling tightly over her jutting shoulder blades was almost transparent.

"Madam ..." the man entreated melodically. He crouched down to where mother bowed and encouraged her to get up off the floor with the gentlest touch on her arm. She followed him up to her feet, bewildered, searching his face for some sort of answer or reprieve.

"Madam ..." he continued in a soft voice so as not to alarm mother any further: "My name is Timon; I am a messenger from the palace. I only seek the permission of your husband to speak with your daughter, Phile."

Suddenly and rather illogically during this pivotal moment, I managed to place the symbol on the medallion he wore from deep within my memory – the breastplate of father's regimental armour. When he used to sit me on his lap I would trace the circular reliefs continuously with my tiny finger.

"My husband is not Phile's father, sir. The gods took him from this earth a few years ago now."

It was only when mother mentioned my name that I finally awakened from my musings. Daydreams were something that were all too common to me in those days, my only form of escapism. Realisation pinched at my chest. It became tight. What could Timon – and the palace – possibly want with _me_?

Still, I was not called upon to step out of the shadows and present myself. Mother was being wary. I had spent the last few years wishing I was invisible, now when it was finally granted to me, I felt insignificant even though I was evidently to be the subject of any ensuing conversation.

"I am sorry for your loss." Timon said earnestly with a nod. "Then as Phile's mother, perhaps you will be able to help me? I wish to speak to your daughter to deliver an invitation." he smiled pleasantly. I noticed how perfect his teeth were. They were whiter than pearls, testament to the clean water and finely-milled bread served at the palace, no doubt. "Would you like me to discuss this with you privately beforehand?" he posed to her.

It was an oblique way to register my presence I considered, a little insulted and mistrustful of Timon. Little did I know that the revelation about to be presented to me would place me firmly on the road destined towards my often-pondered 'purpose'. I have sometimes imagined that the Fates had Timon suspended and controlled on their famous threads, much like a puppet.

Mother quickly replied to him, a little off-hand perhaps but her patience was wearing thin and all of Timon's pomp was beginning to irritate her. Believe it or not, she was a woman who would never skirt around an issue if she could just pass straight through it:

"As you see sir, my daughter is present. Deliver your message for both of our ears, if you please."

Timon nodded at me with just a cursory once-over, finally acknowledging my presence before untying the scroll again and unrolling it grandly. He took time in holding it before himself as he cleared his throat to read from it. I remember my frustration at this point, how I wished he would make haste as the suspense was literally making my heart pound like a fast drum beating against the wall of my chest.

"Priam, great King of our fair city has acquiesced to request your presence; Phile daughter of Erymas and Ariadne. The King's eldest son, Crown Prince Hector will choose his Hetaerae. Your name has been drawn from the ballot; therefore you are required to arrive at the palace at sunrise tomorrow for the selection process. May the gods offer you good grace."

I did not hear the very last part. My head swam. My legs felt like they wanted to buckle with the shock.

It could not be!

'Hetaerae' were concubines, courtesans, extra-marital companions, mistresses, 'kept women' – every culture has a different term. Please do not confuse Hetaerae with the common prostitute: we were defined as highly educated, sophisticated attendants for married men of prominence. Far from being frowned upon, to be a Hetaera was a significant and revered position.

In a male-dominated society where men alone create the laws and customs, it is not at all surprising to find that they tend to have much freedom and entitlement - sex being no exception, as you may expect. The phallus was a potent symbol, representing life, fertility, strength and power and in view of this, men were encouraged to express themselves sexually. To do so was seen as a badge of masculinity.

Unwed men could take whomever they wanted to their bed at whatever frequency took his mood, however for a married man, there was a clear distinction between the types of women he could keep: hetaerae for pleasure, pallakae (a casual lover, usually a servant) to care for the man's daily body needs and gynaeke (a wife) to bear legitimate children and to be faithful guardians of the household.

The lower classes, I suppose, would seek extra-marital pleasure in women of the night. I know second-hand of the existence of brothels and women of ill-repute hanging around the taverns of the city. However, for privileged and particularly royal men, it was a different matter. There were set customs.

A royal only took one wife. Because she would bear his heirs, a suitor was considered and discussed by the royal family and palace council - she would need to be fertile, strengthen the bloodline and the security of her husband's country (she was usually accompanied with some sort of treaty). It was rare that the marriage was arranged for non-political motivation. Attraction or even love was not usually a factor in the choice.

Hetaerae on the other hand _were_ chosen of the man's free will, and they were so for any number of reasons: her beauty, her skills at music, dance and song, her wit, even her subservience. He would _want_ to spend time with her; she existed for_ his_ amusement, in whatever whim that may take. It was not unusual for a royal man to keep a whole harem of Hetaerae.

Pallakae were lowest in the chain and purely circumstantial lovers (for example a servant bathing her master, inadvertently awakening his ardour).The use of a Pallakae was considered quite taboo and therefore was kept strictly private and not talked about. There was something quite demeaning in laying with a servant.

You may have noted that a 'ballot' was mentioned, so for clarity I shall also tell you what I understand of this:

Hetaerae were selected from a strict criterion, from good families who already held connections with the palace.

Palace Courtiers: the clergy, high-ranking soldiers (like my father), clerks, secretaries, agents and middlemen of all sorts with regular business at court - who had produced female offspring - would be invited to enter their daughter's name into a ballot. The ballot existed to ensure the selection was fair. As you can imagine, it was possible for more than a hundred men to put forward his daughter, however only a maximum of fifteen girls could be considered (as where would such a busy and important man find the time to have any more women in his life?). Therefore the hundreds were narrowed down to fifteen by being drawn from this ballot.

At a symposium (men's drinking party - and at the palace I hear that there were many of these) these courtiers would receive a stone tablet, bearing their daughter's name – an invitation to enter her into the Hetaerae ballot. I can only imagine the excitement and sheer competiveness rising through the drunken atmosphere on the auspicious night that Prince Hector, a prodigy of his time and heir to the throne, was the subject of the ballot. To be his Hetaerae was significant for the father, both in social progression and accolade.

I digress. If the courtier chose to submit his daughter (most still only children at the time), he tendered the tablet into a ceremonial amphorae. This could remain untouched for years, until the man married. When the time came, the amphorae would be broken open and fifteen names chosen at random by a blindfolded priestess. These girls would be summoned to the palace for the man to choose from.

During the intervening years between tendering their daughter's name and the amphorae being broken open, the girl's family had ample time to prepare their daughter for the role of Hetaerae – providing an extensive education, training her in refined manners, teaching her the many aspects of the Arts and the skill of clever conversation so she could delight and entertain her 'Kyrios' (master). In the meantime, the family would pray to the gods and give offerings in the hope that their precious one would be chosen for such an honour.

All would pray to the gods apart from my father of course.

My father, the idealist, had been against the notion of Hetaerae. In fact, he was against a man being unfaithful to his wife completely. He argued that he who remains faithful to his wife shows true strength and conviction. He would not have wished for me to be secondary in a man's affections. He wanted me to be loved and cherished by a devoted husband as he had my mother, not exploited for my body - which he believed Hetaerae (along with pallakae and whores alike) suffered, because of course giving pleasure to a man is not primarily in a woman's fresh opinions, her skill with a weaving shuttle, the subtle wiggle her of hips when dancing or her intonation when reading poetry aloud.

Father would have chosen to endure both of his hands being hacked off and fed to him above even entertaining the thought of his daughter as a Hetaerae, I certainly knew that much.

So how had the situation progressed this far?

How could a name not even tendered be chosen?

It was true that I fitted the criteria (loosely): I was of pure Trojan blood; good stock of the upper classes; between the ages of fourteen and twenty (although as I was right at the end of this scale, I only just qualified), and – most importantly – pure. I was educated although I would not say to anything above average for my station. I was fairly literate, although I could not sew or weave competently, sing a note in tune or play a musical instrument to even the poorest of standards (mother had tried in vain to encourage me to learn to play the lyre but I had lost interest very quickly – I never had the patience to work at anything that I was not immediately talented at).

As for stark fact of pleasuring a man – sexually I mean - I was obviously aware that males and females were very different physically (a fact hard to ignore in a city full of partially clothed people and naked statues). To be honest with you, sex was not something I contemplated at any great length. Even a whisper of that word felt wicked so to put it out of my mind seemed like a safe option. I was taught, like most _proper_ girls, that I should keep away from the thing between a man's legs at all costs. I was raised to be painfully aware that my virginity was of paramount importance to my value as a woman - it was a precious commodity, a sacred status to be protected until the time came to gift it to a husband, not to be given away frivolously or allow myself to be corrupted (or else be branded a ruined woman and cast out from society). I had little idea of the actual mechanics of sex, apart from that it was essentially not dissimilar from the way animals procreate. _Procreation_ – I knew it was necessary for that – yet I did not realise quite _why_ it was such a driving force in the male world.

Succinctly speaking, I was certainly anything but prepared for being Hetaerae

I was silenced in my utter astonishment as Timon waited for the light of joy to shine in my eyes, a gracious bow and the emphatic acceptance that he was probably now accustomed to after visiting many of the other candidates.

On the contrary, I wanted nothing more than to explain to him that the invitation had been a grave mistake – until I glanced over at mother who had that kind of intense warning in her eyes that would silence any daughter.


	4. Chapter 4

I reached out to the palace gate and suddenly became entranced with how small my hand looked in comparison to the giant circle of bronze attached to the two doors that served as the knocker. After I had considered that the ring was so wide it would probably even be too big to circle my hips, I decided that I did not have the strength in me to strike the door with it. How should I announce my arrival, I wondered? I settled for a few weak raps with my fist as simply attempting to push the gate open seemed too discourteous.

Surprisingly, a guard's keen ear actually heard me from the other side of the secure wooden monstrosity. A little hatch on the right hand door (positioned much higher than even the very top of my head) opened inwards and his face, all ruddy yet strangely immobile, appeared there.

The guard peered under heavy lids as he gave me a good look up and down, scrutinising me with narrowed eyes. He seemed to know the purpose of my visit however, without me needing to announce myself.

"You are late". He barked at me before slamming the hatch.

He was, sadly, right about that. The pinkish orange hue that washed the sky at dawn was beginning to fade and a cloudless blue was appearing like crystal water slowly filling a bowl in its place. Drunk on near-exhaustion, I do not know how I actually made it to the palace gates at all for I had hardly slept a wink that previous night. Everything felt unreal, as if I were wedged between that strange ghostly world between wake and dream. Any stresses that would have normally raised an alarmed jolt through my heart (such as the guard's point about my tardiness) were no longer present within me, negated by the woolly dull sensation that resided in the front of my head and each heavy limb. Perhaps that was for the best.

Even though it seemed to me that I had risen from my bed in the middle of the night, I had awoken later than planned that morning and there had been so much preparation to take care of to ensure I was of suitable appearance for the palace. Whether it would impress the Prince was another matter - I had my doubts, partly because I felt so uncomfortable. Mother had decided that the only gown elegant enough for my expectant audience was the one she had worn for her wedding to my father and it was, I think, the only keep-sake she had held on to – stored for years in a secure wooden trunk under her bed. It had been so long since it had met the light, I was very concerned that it might fall apart at the most inopportune moment but It was very beautiful: cream in colour and understated in design, apart from hundreds of tiny pearls that had been sewn onto the sinuous fabric, dotted all over like the stars in the night sky. Sadly, these embellishments made the gown rather weighty to wear and it clung to my curves in a way that made me rather insecure. I must have been a little bigger than my mother had been at my age and I cursed myself for overindulging in sugary grapes, dense bread and cloying sun-dried figs. Mother assured me that it showed my figure off to perfection and she had performed a wonderful job at customising the dress so it was more befitting a formal occasion rather than a wedding – she had added a deep blue girdle sash around my waist and had removed the veil in favour of decorating my rebellious hair (still not behaving itself quite as it should) with the tiny blooms of a blue hyacinth plant (a flower dedicated to Apollo, Troy's patron god therefore my mother believed it would be the perfect tribute). Despite the finery, I did consider that the gown may be a little old-fashioned and I had no jewels to decorate my wrists, neck or ears. I chose not to comment on this to mother as she had been dizzy with excitement all morning and it had been such a lovely thing to witness. She had needed something to take her mind of things.

Now at the gate, I considered that my appearance was why the guard had peered at me so rudely. Ultimately, I was a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes. How could I ever expect to be taken seriously?

I stood there as the moments of silence and inactivity trundled on, considering whether I should turn back and return home. To do so would have been somewhat of a relief for me but I knew that mother would be so disappointed in me, I had to see this through, I thought despondently. I had no choice now.

The gate shuddered noisily as an unseen bold was drawn across and one of the doors slowly creaked open. The guard stood there, his podgy hand lazily holding onto the shaft of a spear which seemed to be wilting like under-watered plant as he held it at such an odd angle. He would have looked resplendent, intimidating even in his military regalia if he hadn't have been so rotund. His domed helmet appeared to push the fat from his cheeks downwards into an extra chin and his bronze breastplate, decorated with the now familiar concentric circle insignia, was firmly moulded and contoured to muscles that did not exist. He was no longer scrutinising me, his head was turned towards the shadow to his right, behind the partially opened gate.

"Lysander! ... Lysander you little runt! Another girl for you to take to the Governess!" the guard called rudely in that general direction.

Very quickly, a skinny looking boy appeared before me – well I say boy but he was perhaps only three or four years younger than me. He in that uncomfortable place between boy and man, tall but the bulk of his body was yet to catch up with his growth spurt. His large eyes were bright and child-like yet his chin was beginning to square and his top lip was smattered with a few wispy hairs. The tunic that practically hung from one bony shoulder was embroidered with the palace insignia and although and he seemed to puff his scrawny chest out proudly to display it.

The boy silently motioned with his hand for me to follow him and rapidly turned on his heels, passing at such speed through the stone entrance arch of the gate that I did not even observe my immediate alien surroundings and I had real trouble catching up with him as the gown made it impossible to do anything but wiggle. I was already beginning to look unkempt, my stubborn hair was beginning to loosen from the pins and tendrils were falling around my face, the last thing I needed was to look flushed and sweaty when – and if – I finally reached my intended destination.

"Slow down!" I called to the boy desperately.

He obediently did just that but still kept a few paces ahead of me. I felt like a cow being led to pasture.

"Am I very late?" I called again, a little breathless.

He stopped in his tracks and stood there for a moment, his shoulders slumping a little as if considering something. He finally turned his head back to look at me. As I caught up to where he stood waiting, he leaned in to me a little, glanced around to see if anybody was watching and whispered:

"I am not supposed to talk to you ... any of you." He added as an afterthought so I wouldn't think his previous muteness was a personal slur.

There was mischievousness in those big eyes that made me instantly warm to him. Still intoxicated with fatigue, I mirrored him and leaned closer as if it were all a game, like children sharing secrets.

"I won't tell if you don't." I whispered back, trying not to smile too much.

A broad grin of relief spread across the boy's face, slowly at first then all at once brilliant.

"I was hoping you would say that!" He laughed.

He began to walk again but now his pace was in time with mine and we were side by side. I was not confident enough to look about myself for fear that the enormity of being a guest at the palace may suddenly shock me half to death, I kept my eyes on our respective feet, working at a pacey yet comfortable speed. Mine were tiny, encased in too-tight slippers that essentially covered up the rough skin on my soles, an embarrassing result of my sandal-less habit. The boy had remarkably big feet I remember, with long toes and their joints like knotty branches.

A grey blur caught my attention and I looked up to see a huge grey heron take off from an unknown perch, his large wings fully outstretched as he caught the breeze to wheel over the palace roof which loomed soberly to my right. We were walking on a neat path that took us across the foreground and between us and the palace lay a beautiful garden. We horizontally travelled across the beginning of an avenue lined by trellis, all supporting many wisteria plants that were artfully trained to form an arch sheltering the way. The sunlight dappled underneath the climbing purple star-like flowers, looking so cool and inviting. Beyond the trellises was a raised, flat courtyard from which I caught a fleeting glimpse of many huge marble statues lining the perimeter.

The boy noticed my amazed stares and laughed. I had almost forgotten he was there for a moment.

"Those are statues of the past kings of Troy ... and through the courtyard – do you see those pillars and steps?" He pointed and I strained my eyes to see beyond the veil of morning dew rising in a mist from the flagstones of the courtyard. I could just make them out so I nodded.

"That is the main entrance to the palace; it leads straight into the throne room." He explained. I wondered if the king was there, I imagined he was and the austere vision in my head made me balk. The boy sensed this and tried to make me more at ease.

"I am sorry I laughed at you before" He continued "I forget how impressive this place appears sometimes, I have been here so long that I hardly pay heed. Besides, I usually see this ..."

Almost as soon as he finished his sentence we turned sharply off the neat path and behind a group of impenetrable hedges, twice as tall as me. The grass that grew there was patchy and not clipped anywhere as neatly as the entrance gardens. We followed a track of compacted, dry earth up to a group of shabby looking murky-bricked buildings. Great plumes of smoke were rising from the stubby chimneys in the ramshackle roofs. Before we had reached them, I could see and hear the chaotic activity that was taking place all around.

As we passed through the narrow alleyway between the group of buildings, women dressed in drab tunics and headscarves lined the track, sitting on rudimentary benches skilfully plucking dead chickens, the white feathers forming great clouds all around. Further up, a stout looking man with a great beard was hacking away at something on a large wooden block with a sharp cleaver, blood spattered all over his apron and sweat beading on his brow. I peered into the doorway of one of the buildings, drawn to it due to the sheer stifling heat it emanated. Inside I could see great clay ovens belching charcoal fumes, a blur of people studiously stirring huge receptacles with giant spoons as the terror-filled squeals of a pig ended abruptly with a large thumping sound. I clenched my eyes shut for a moment; even though I did not see the slaughter I felt its sound pass through my gut like a spear. Suddenly I felt a little queasy. I had not eaten that morning (for fear of bursting out of my dress and yes, perhaps also out of anxiety). Even though the cooking smells that enveloped me as we passed through what was evidently the palace kitchens must have smelt good to most people, to me it just heightened the sickness in my stomach.

The boy had a talent for sensing when things were awry it seemed. He nudged me softly with his elbow and flashed me another cheerful smile: "The royal family love their food. And the gods know there are enough mouths to feed. Priam himself has sired fifty sons and many daughters!"

I stared at him through a lowered brow, mistrusting his gossip. The King's prolific reproductive talents were well rumoured although I did not believe it for a second. The boy seemed a little hurt by my underwhelmed reaction and I am sure I detected a little pout to his unusually rosy lips.

"It's true!" he exclaimed "I have seen them all with my own eyes!"

He seemed so earnest somehow that I began have faith in him, not that I was going to tell him that, of course. To offer a truce and to change the subject, I asked him if he was a servant and he mysteriously shrugged, not confirming or refuting the point in question.

"I am an errand boy" he eventually revealed, sounding a little deflated (his role was of course rather obvious to me but I did not reveal so in fear that I may offend him again). "But!" he brightened suddenly "Soon I will begin training for Troy's own army! One day I am going to be as tall and strong as Prince Hector and when that happens, the first thing I will do is kick that fat guard so hard on his huge arse that he is going to fall face first into a pile of horse dung!"

His observation about the guard was amusing and I should have laughed – had his comment about Hector not make fear begin to crackle through me like lightening.

"The Prince is a big man?" I enquired, my pride making me try to sound casually indifferent. It probably did not, seeing as my throat felt like it had been gripped in a vice.

You would have thought that with my father playing such a pivotal role in the army (and by the time of his demise being second in rank only to the Prince himself, after apparently mentoring him for many years) that I would have at least seen Hector with my own eyes. But I had not, save for the odd glimpse during some sort of parade through the town. Father was careful never to mix his personal life with his work at the palace and Mother had not really cared for the hustle and bustle of these popular public events (that usually marked a triumphant return from overseas or a lavish wedding), meaning we only viewed from afar. The Prince to me was a figure riding away in the distance, dark hair covering the back of a head and bronze armour reflecting hazy glints from the sun. There had been rumours that Hector occasionally liked to go incognito and mix with the commoners, especially in the deprived Lower Town area of the City and for which he had been credited in turning its poor fortunes around but again, I did not believe this gossip for a second. I was certainly a cynical young woman.

The boy had failed to realise just what gravity his offhand remark had on me, not that he could have known about the awful confrontation that had occurred the previous evening - including hearing rumours which seem to hasten the germination of the seedling of doubt about the Prince already planted in my mind. I was exceedingly nervous and wary around men in general and the Prince was so very unfamiliar to me. Sometimes now it bothers me that I could ever entertain such misconceptions of Hector, although I could not have known any better at the time I suppose. I did not want to know better. The boy's observation of the Prince filled me a distinct sense of foreboding. He continued unawares, making matters worse for me.

"Oh yes!" the boy exclaimed excitedly: "The Prince is tallest in all of Troy, thick with muscles and hands that could crush a man's skull!"

He held his palm upwards with fingers clawed to demonstrate a certain level of brutality. I hoped it was just juvenile posturing as remembered that exhaling (and breathing in general) was a prerequisite to living.

He laughed hard realising how over-dramatic he was being and this caused small birds to take flight from another set of hedges that most certainly shielded something else from refined eyes. The boy seemingly was keen to continue with his rather unofficial tour.

"Behind there are the stables and training arena ... for riding and fighting".

It made me sad to think that my father had spent a lot of his time there and it was a shame I could not see it, for I would have liked to. I wondered if his energy lingered where his body could not.

"You need to explore when you come to live here". The boy said suddenly.

I did not know whether to laugh, cry or slap him in the face at being so impertinently presumptuous. The shock – or conflict – must have registered on my face as he added sheepishly, with a mumble.

"You _will_ live here."

Just as I was about to contest the boy's apparent clairvoyance, or rather lunacy, the path turned us around a cluster of young trees and immediately before us loomed the sharp, straight wall of one side of the palace. A small unassuming doorway, carved into the very side of the actual palace walls appeared to be our destination. I must have visibly gulped back some air whilst I eyed it suspiciously as the boy smiled reassuringly: "You are not late. The other girls were very eager and arrived very early anyway. You are perfectly on time, as it should be. That was a short-cut."

Thanking the boy for his help would have been the right thing to do because without it, my terrible timekeeping would have ensured that I would have never lived my life as I now know it. I am ashamed to say I did not even think of it at the time. The voice in my head was constantly yelling in a panicked loop: "you should not be here!" and I was afraid that if I opened my mouth I would voice these words and make a scene. I felt helpless – it had been mother's will that I accept the invitation and it was my duty to obey her, which were my late father's wishes. Now this was my only option to _escape_. I had to persevere.

It was up to me alone now to find out what lay beyond. I stood at that darkened doorway, probably feeling the same as Theseus standing at the entrance of the Cretan Labyrinth, wondering what exactly the monstrous Minotaur had in store for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**

_Sorry for the delay in updating, everyone! This chapter has been the most difficult so far :o( It's so annoying when you can see the events played out in your imagination but can't get them down on paper. I honestly did not know how or when I was going to fit this part of the narrative in. This chapter has literally only just come about over the last couple of days, so I hope its okay, not too repetitive, confusing or under-descriptive. Well, I guess I can always change it at a later date!_

_Speaking of that, the other chapters have had a very slight clean up, mainly to flow a bit better with this one. _

_Some of the other chapters are actually already written (as I tend to work not chronologically but whatever comes into my head), so I should not be so long in posting those._

_21 Mar '12 – have just updated this to correct some rather glaring spelling mistakes – sorry! _

-0-

I lay there on a table, of sorts. Before I was ordered to arrange myself on it, I could see reddish stains spotting the wood, which was so old the grain dug uncomfortably into my shoulders and backside. Those stains were unmistakably blood. What was this place?

I swallowed the horrified shriek that threatened to rise in my throat as my gown was unceremoniously hitched up past my waist and my legs forced open.

"Relax girl, or this will just hurt you more" said the woman, gruff and impatient, who stood at the foot of the table, her hands resting on both of my knees.

This woman had received me just as I had stepped into a very narrow but cool corridor beyond the door in the wall. Without introductions or explanation, she had silently led me to that strange white room. It was a clinical place that smelt strongly of cloves and anise. I soon noticed a number of faded friezes painted in washed hues of green, blue and pink on the walls. I had to squint to make the images out. They depicted what were apparently men and women engaging in what I could have only described at the time as base and animalistic positions, body parts connected in ways that seemed deviant. I was appalled. The couples' respective expressions both conveyed some sort of rapture although what they were doing looked anything but pleasant. I suppose these friezes were meant as some sort of celebration of the pleasures of the flesh; perhaps even guidance but they seemed so vulgar to me. I blushed profusely and quickly averted my eyes (although the images in question seemed to be by then burnt on my retinas).

The woman watched my reaction amusedly, coupled with a derisive snort. She was rather repulsive and reminded me of a toad – she was squat, with rolls of fat seeming to cascade around her body. Her face was so round, it shrouded any neck she may have had. Her features were pinched; all curiously gathered in the very centre of that face as if they had been squashed in as an after-thought. Her jowls wobbled distractingly to and fro as she bent to examine me in my most personal of places.

I had a notion that she inspecting me to ensure I was as virginal as was claimed. If I had been impure, I could not be a worthy candidate for the Prince so I resolved to be silent and let her do as she wished – any slight protest and she may have concluded I was indeed ruined. It still seems strange to me that inexperience and naivety could ever be an attractive trait in a sexual partner (in fact it seems perversely childlike) but I suppose a man would never like to eat from a plate of food touched by another. I was beginning to understand that to be _the first, the only_ was the appeal. Men must like to mark their territory, very much like a wolves I considered. They must have the urges and appetites of beasts.

Exposed in such an improper manner, I turned my head to the side, my eyelids positively scrunched shut as I tried to take my mind away from this assault.

Still, I found no peace. My mind wandered to the previous night and my eventual confrontation of that bastard, Sophus – memories that were as fresh to me as the dew had been that very morning, yet ones that I had so stubbornly attempted to violently squeeze from my mind. My resolve must have been weakened for a fleeting moment or I must have just lost my concentration as they flooded back then, unstoppable like a building tumult of rushing water. To recall seemed to drown me. I should have learnt then that repression was no healer.

-0-

_Mother had remained mute as she coaxed the tangles from my freshly-washed damp hair. All that could be heard was the gentle put-put noise of the oil lamp on the parlour table before me. It would need refilling before long. I had stared at the orange reflection flickering on the knife that accompanied the untouched platter of cheese and bread on the table. Mother had given up trying to persuade me to eat. Perhaps she had given up trying to talk to me too._

_It was not so. As I fidgeted in my chair a little, fighting the urge to run my fingers through my hair to tousle it how I preferred, I saw in my peripheral vision that she set the comb to my right side. She did not move out from behind me as she sighed flatly._

_"Oh Phile. I wish you could see that this opportunity is a gift from the gods. It is the chance for you to live a better life!" She was playing with the tendrils of my hair wistfully, letting its damp coolness lay over her palm before its weight made it slide from her skin._

_Rather than seeing Timon's invitation as an insult to my father's memory as I did, Mother had been surprisingly enthusiastic at the prospect of her only daughter becoming a plaything of the Prince._

_After Timon had taken his leave that morning, my astonishment had quickly subsided and I became increasingly truculent and suspicious as the day drew on. Mother had accepted the invitation on my behalf; it seemed to me as flippantly as if she were accepting an extra bun from the baker. Clearly, she cared more about family reputation (and how brag-worthy her daughter being a Hetaerae to Prince Hector would be) over my late father's values and wishes, the mere concept of this flashing furiously around my head like lightening. She seemingly pleased to have a purpose as she busied herself with the preparations to ensure that her very ill-equipped daughter could at least masquerade as an attractive prospect for the fussy high-standards of a privileged man._

_I had kept myself out of the way that day, detaching myself by seeking refuge in the gardens, now overgrown - the perfect hiding place. I took position behind an apple tree and brooded until I was called upon to take a bath. The shaping me from modest girl to ersatz woman of elegance was to begin. I was expected, nay anticipated at the palace._

_"A better life? To leave my family? My home?" I had answered her plea almost immediately. I had intended this to flow from my mouth as a staunch and resolute protest; instead they tumbled out of my mouth with a sob which burnt my throat._

_Mother sighed again, this time in frustration and moved from behind me around the table, sliding into the chair to the right of me under the window. Her eyes were heavy with tiredness yet seemed to glow with something that warmed her entire face. I now realise it was hope. She held her hand out to me. The fingers of my right hand instinctively loosened their anxiety-ridden grip on the edge of the table to take hers, yearning for a mother's love and wisdom. She smiled at me gently, almost reassuringly._

_"What is there here for you now, beloved daughter? I shall tell you – a pitiable existence, a constant struggle for survival, a life of fear and bitterness. This is not what your father wanted either." She looked away for a moment and brought a curled hand to her mouth to compose herself as she choked back her own tears. "I blame myself" she continued after a while: "I should not have brought Sophus into this household." She shook her head, positively disgusted at herself._

_I squeezed her hand until she had the courage to look at me again:_

_"Neither of us could have foreseen what I charlatan he turned out to be. I do not blame you". I said emphatically._

_She smiled, a little cheered now but the expression soon dropped and the light in her eyes faded as she considered something:_

_"I fear for your safety Phile. You are a beautiful girl and I have been witness to the way Sophus watches you. I do not trust him not to take liberties with you." I had noticed his licentious attentions myself already, although the connotations had only just fully formed in my head. She meant rape. The realisation was as if I suffered a blow from inside the belly._

_"You need to escape whilst you can!" she entreated before a solitary tear rolled down her delicate face._

_I deplored seeing mother so upset. A survival mechanism kicked in and I felt my jaw jut in pure anger at Sophus and the difficult position he had placed us in. To wilfully tear a child from their mother's bosom just for safety's sake was surely an abhorrent crime. This was essentially the predicament he had forced us into. Now father had gone, I was all mother had. I was not just a daughter but a confidant and companion. I could not leave her alone to endure Sophus. I felt it to be my responsibility to take care of her, a strange role reversal._

_"I cannot leave you with Sophus, mother!" I cried in desperation. No other words would come after that. I felt defeated, exhausted. More tears rolled down my cheeks but I did not have the strength to brush them away._

_Mother lifted her free hand to cup my face: "It is not up to you to protect me. I am old and I have lived a full life; do not pity me. You are still young, you should be carefree – you need to laugh, dance, love! Oh what a joy that will be for me. I just know Hector will choose you. Look at your loveliness! At the palace you will want for nothing and you will be safe. Hector will protect you."_

_I sighed heavily. "You cannot rely on that" I shook my head, resigned: "The Prince is nothing but a stranger". I was a realist; we could not count on Hector choosing me. Even then, we could not count on his guardianship. He was a warrior and a privileged aristocrat, what interest could he possibly take in me?_

_"'ave seen 'im". Came a slurred voice suddenly from across the room. Sophus. _

_Silhouetted by the lamps behind him in the hallway, he stood in the open doorway, or rather slumped against it, evidently so drunk he could not easily stand. Mother and I were both startled into pulling away from each other and sitting up straight. Fear clung around us like a shroud. We both wondered how long he had been there, how much he had heard. His wrath was akin to madness._

_"I 'eard 'ector 'is a bastard. King not his true father an' that 'is mother lay with a Barbarian." Sophus began as he slowly sloped towards us. _

_He was clearly trying not to look intoxicated and was overcompensating for this, his walk looking unnaturally pronounced. Mother's blazing eyes flickered towards me and she shook her head to implore me to pay no heed, such a subtle, slight gesture it went unnoticed by Sophus (which was of course intended)._

_"They say 'e is cruel, 'is 'eart 'ardned by battle. 'e takes pleasure in killing. 'ave seen 'im. In the tavern. 'e was drinking up a storm and whoring. My kinda man!"_

_Sophus had reached us now and was laughing manically, echoed and amplified by the almost empty room. This soon turned into a spluttering fit and for a moment, I thought he might vomit over us. Instead we were showered in tiny droplets of spittle which reeked of alcohol and goodness knows what else - it was disgusting and I furrowed my brow in revulsion. This gesture sadly did not escape his attention and obviously offended, he brought his face down to me menacingly and so close his stinking breath ruffled my drying hair. My survival instinct pulsed and I was filled with fury. I stared defiantly up, glowering at him so hard my eyes burnt. Sophus seemed to be revelling in the unspoken confrontation._

_"Wha' would the Prince want with you anyway? You 'ave nuthin' to offer 'im that he can't get from a peasant girl! 'e will break you like 'e breaks 'is 'orses! 'e will consume you and discard you on the dirty floor like a corn husk". Sophus spat with vitriol. His teeth were yellow, spittle dripping from them. "you will be 'is whore, 'e 'll mount you with all the grace of a bull mounting a heifer. 'e'll 'ave 'is way with you good an' proper all right!" he declared with glee, standing to make an exaggerated thrusting motion with his hips: "an' when 'e grows bored ..." Sophus paused dramatically, swayed a little and brought his hand up, drawing his finger across his throat, making a slitting sound to enhance his point._

_The rage morphed into terror. It rose from my belly and it grasped my heart like icy, skeletal hands. I did not want to believe this slander but I knew no better. How could I separate lies from truth when I did not know Hector to discover for myself? I did not want to discover. If my fear had not rooted me to the spot then, I would have ran, ran as fast as my little legs could carry me._

_Then a shrill cry broke the tension:_

_"No!" mother had stood suddenly, her chair making a very audible scraping sound on the floor as it was pushed away in the violence of her protest. She banged both palms down on the tabletop to enhance the finality of her plea:_

_"Phile, do not listen to him! Your father would not have loved Hector like a son if that was the case!"_

_Sophus clearly did not appreciate such an insurrection; I suppose he thought that he had forced all the strength from mother. It was a challenge to him, a game to rip that very last scrap from her. He turned his attentions and his aggressive stance to her. With reactions that stunned even me, he struck mother in the mouth with the back of his hand for talking against him, ensuring her silence. She was knocked back into her chair, bewildered, her lip cut, bleeding and quickly swelling._

_"Erymas was a fool!" Sophus bellowed: "the man died a coward."_

_I did not need to witness or hear any more. Enough. The rage returned, ignited with such ferocity I could not contain it. Red seemed to cloud my eyes. I could hear the blood pumping fast through my veins, it reverberated in my head. Every sense seemed to feel heightened yet I was unaware of my very self, as if I had dropped off the face of the earth for the moment; when I returned I found that I had sprung forward and had pinned Sophus to the table. I had grabbed the cheese knife and was pressing it so hard to his throat, it left a deep indent on his waxy skin. Perhaps his talk of Hector's supposed cruelty had been my very inspiration. He did not struggle, too drunk to counteract. I had the knife just so that any slight movement would have meant he would have practically sliced his own throat. Cunning Sophus could sense this and stayed so pale and still under my clutches that he resembled a marble statue. The panic in his eyes was immensely satisfying. He had underestimated me and was now his turn to fear, after years of forcing the terrible sensation on us. _

_"Was that the sound of slitting a throat you made earlier Sophus?" I asked him darkly. I was enjoying this newly-discovered power; it was liberating, exhilarating and had been a long time coming. "Shall we see what it sounds like for real?" I hissed as I drew the knife a tiny way across his skin, causing a superficial cut no longer than the top third of my finger. His blood seeped slowly from the wound and for a moment I was surprised it was bright red, not deathly black._

_Then I felt mother's hand on my wrist steadying my hand, halting me from causing any more damage, bringing me back from the brink of no return. In my rage I had forgotten she was present._

_"He's not worth it Phile. Think of tomorrow." She reasoned solemnly. _

_It had certainly crossed my mind that I would not have any real cause to become a Hetaerae if Sophus' deservedly met his demise - but I was no callous murderess. I did not wish to shame my family and be exiled to the unknown, harsh wilderness as punishment. I would not survive there. Even if what Sophus said of the Prince was the truth, it was the best choice between the three unbearable options I was now facing._

_I did not take my eyes from my quarry yet my grip on Sophus momentarily slackened enough for him to scrabble to his feet, clearly fearing for his life. I held the knife out ready to protect myself but Sophus did not strike back. Instead, he slowly and warily took backward steps away from me, worried that any sudden movements would spike another frenzy as if I were a rabid dog about to strike. I suppose I must have resembled one a little, ready to pounce again and my lips curling into snarl. He must have only just started to feel the tinge of pain from the cut I inflicted as, without taking his eyes from me, he touched two fingers to it and brought his fingers to his face to see the blood._

_"Crazed witch!" he roared before he turned on his heels and fled the house. _

_The lamp on the table flickered and died, plunging mother and I into shadow._

-0-

Sophus did not return that night, although I did not sleep well, fretting he would. Perhaps he was holed up at the tavern he favoured, it seemed to be his primary home those days and no doubt he needed a stiff drink or five to steady his frayed nerves. Perhaps he had drunk himself into such a stupor he had passed out somewhere, incapacitated. Would he dare ever return? Of course he would. He was a spiteful man and there would be repercussions. It was only a matter of time before he struck back. How I worried about mother – I hated the thought of her all alone, defenceless in the house as she was right at that moment with me here, following some ridiculous flight of fancy. Her mouth had been so swollen that morning, she could barely put a cup of water to her lips.

"Do not frown like that girl, the Prince will not appreciate such a negative expression. Besides, it lines your face in such an ugly way". The woman said tiresomely as she patted me on the leg, a signal to rise from the table and arrange my dress back to the proper place. The examination was over and I was brought back to reality, just as awful as my daydreams.

I rose on my elbows, bewildered with my head now pounding as I watched her waddle over to a steaming basin standing in the corner and wash her hands. She turned her large frame to look at me when she sensed no movement.

"Make haste! The Prince is expected in the great hall for the selection any moment!" she chided, eyebrows raised in impatient expectation. They were as thin as spider's legs and drawn on, without a doubt.

I hopped off the table, frustrated and unhappy that I had to obey such a rude and unfriendly person. I was resigned that insults were to be path of the course here at the palace and I had to accept it, appear submissive. My thoughts however, would always be my own. I found some comfort in that. I began to smooth down my troublesome and heavy dress and noticed the woman stood there, regarding me curiously with narrowed eyes

"So unrefined" she muttered to herself as she wringed a cotton towel around her chubby short fingers to dry them "How could you even be of consideration?" she shook her head in disbelief. "Still, you do have a body practically made for a man's pleasure ... and the Prince has a habit of taking in waifs and strays. That boy is _not_ normal".


	6. Chapter 6

"Your instructions are simple: Keep your eyes down and do not look at the Prince under any circumstances - it is beneath you to make eye contact with him. Do not speak until invited to do so. Stand up straight and do not slouch so he can appraise you properly."

The toad woman, who I later discovered was the Hetaerae Governess, stood at the front of an orderly queue of girls awaiting to enter the great hall. She croaked her orders with scary finality. I had been placed at the very tail end of this line, made to feel that I had been tagged on as an eleventh-hour substandard attempt to make up the numbers. I understandably eyed my 'competitors' – all immaculately turned out in expensive gowns, ostentatious jewellery and elaborate hairstyles. I could barely tell them apart from each other, banal clones, effortlessly moulded into the image of society's opinion of the perfect woman.

There were only twelve of us, instead of the usual fifteen that would have been invited for the Prince to select from. All I could surmise was that some of the invitees must have failed their physical inspection, found to be 'ruined'. Rather than dismissing these girls as foolish or experiencing a distinct sense of glee that with numbers diminished, my own chance perhaps been improved, I felt a little sorry for them and I wondered of their situations: Perhaps they had been manipulated and had fancied themselves in love; perhaps they had been taken advantage of; perhaps they had been forced upon. It was not for me to judge when any one of these very same fates could have befallen me.

I wondered what was happening to these girls now. They would have been far too ashamed to tell their families of their terrible secret before this day. Now, their corruption would soon be subject to public ridicule. That could destroy reputations of not just a one soul but a whole family, I thought grimly. All this pain for one trivial cause: some simple female distraction for the Prince. How ridiculous.

We were waiting in a huge deserted hallway with so many adjoining archways it resembled a honeycomb. Despite this, it was rather dark and impenetrable by the beautiful morning sunlight. Perhaps Apollo's chariot was yet to reach the part of his journey in the sky where his light illuminated this place. It smelt musty, of trapped charcoal smoke, damp cold corners and old parchment. Every slight ruffle of a gown or clink of golden medallions emanating from the otherwise silent group of girls echoed around us. Despite the shadiness of the hallway, it was absolutely sweltering in there and taking a breath of such hot air gave me the uncomfortable sensation that I was not breathing at all. I could not help but fidget as I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back under my burden of a dress (which by now felt like it had one hundred stone weights attached to its hem) and I began to feel queasy and a little faint. I could not help but to lean against the wall as we waited and fan my flushing cheeks with my hand – I was fading fast.

The Governess, ever observant of her charges behaviour, peered at me from over the top of the heads of the other girls.

"You!" she bellowed. I was certain she was addressing me as the other girls turned their heads to stare, all carrying differing expressions of exasperation and apathy.

"Yes, you!" the toad bellowed again, this time pointing a pudgy finger accusingly at me just so there was no mistaking who she was addressing: "stand up straight! What is the matter with you?"

"Begging your pardon madam ... I am so hot and my dress is very heavy. I fear that it is affecting ... I cannot help it madam." I stuttered shyly. I spoke in barely a whisper yet it still managed to carry down the cavernous hallway.

Ultimately, it was her assigned role to safeguard the wellbeing of all Hetaerae. Despite this, the Governess looked not even annoyed, just disinterested. I suppose I was not Hetaerae – yet. She studied me carefully from her post at the head of the queue to ensure I was not telling tall tales. I must have certainly looked off colour as she thought for a moment then rolled her eyes, obviously realising she must relent.

"Very well". She sighed resignedly: "Two doorways to the left, behind you, the one where ivy is creeping in. There is a courtyard with a fountain. You may take some of the waters. The Prince is yet to arrive but be quick about it!"

I nodded my compliance, very relieved to at least be outdoors for a moment where the air was crisper. Anything would have been an improvement, even treading over the dying embers in a furnace.

I found my way easily enough, The Governess was right about the ivy. It was lush, green and almost covered the inside of the doorway. The air from outside seemed to dance, caressing my face and gently cooling my reddened cheeks. I shut my eyes against it, enjoying this simple pleasure as I stepped through to beyond. When I opened my eyes again I discovered that I was standing in a courtyard which made up only a small part of a beautiful and well-kept garden. It was overlooked on both sides by windows and balconies, unknown parts of the palace a storey further upwards, yet it still felt so concealed. To my right, the abundant, flourishing plants and trees ambled and stretched to the perimeter wall of the palace, finally ending with a view of the azure sea. It smelt heavenly - of honeysuckle, sweet grasses and mimosa. How I longed to explore and take some rest in the garden's peaceful bosom. Yet the gentle trickle of the fountain prompted my memory and I swiftly remembered where I was supposed to be. The fountain was positioned in the centre of the courtyard, but a few feet away. I hitched my dress up to my ankles with one hand, enjoying the cooling air on my sticky legs as I hurried over. Thankfully, I did not need to kneel and guzzle greedily as the basin was on a raised plinth just about the height of my hip. A handled goblet hung from the side of the basin so I took it and held it up to the actual source of the water. This took the form of an exquisitely sculpted marble woman, naked and holding an amphorae under one arm, which was from whence the water flowed. She looked on, frozen eternally in ethereal beauty, her eyes serene and seemingly watching me. As I filled the goblet I could not help mutter a 'thank you' to her. I could have sworn she smiled.

Just as I put the goblet to my lips, I heard purposeful striding footsteps approach. The sound came from the direction of a covered walkway, set up against the wall of the palace to my left, on the other side of the courtyard from the garden. This seemed to lead to yet another doorway – but not the one I had passed through moments earlier. The noise startled me and in my alarm, I dropped the goblet, spilling the contents on the floor. It made a melodical chime as it bounced on the flagstones. Instinct made me to hide from the approaching person. Silly really, I was supposed to be a guest there at the Palace but I started to panic: these gorgeous gardens must _have_ been private, I must _have_ been trespassing. I took position at the side of the fountain farthest from the walkway and hid there, very still but watching closely; my nerves all but a thin and loose coil. I did not have time to hurry back to the queue without exposure now.

It was him. The Prince. Unmistakable seeing as he wore a crown on golden laurels which sat on his shoulder-length, dark wavy hair. It was scarcely tamed by way decorative twists at his temples, leading to the nape of his thick neck where his whole mane was tied out of the way. I could not make out much of the attributes of his features, apart from a neat, short beard and an indentation on the cheek facing me – a scar perhaps? His profile was strong and his posture straight. A willowy, delicate woman with fine cheekbones accompanied him, attentively reaching up to brush dust or lint from his broad shoulders with her hand as they walked. If I thought she was tall, the Prince was positively lofty, a giant compared to me. They halted suddenly in the shadows on the far end of the walkway before the doorway. She took one of his large hands affectionately in her own, as her other hand reached up to warmly rest on his cheek. She smiled slightly as she murmured something to him. He craned his neck down suddenly, his lips meeting hers and he kissed her fervently. I glanced away at this point, uncomfortable that I had witnessed such an intimate moment. She must have been his wife. I could already see he was very much in love with her and for some reason, it made my own heart heavy.

As soon as he had disappeared through the doorway and the Princess had traced her path back, I hurried to take my place in the queue. I found that the girls were already beginning to proceed through the grand wooden doors of the great hall. I tagged behind, feeling now totally unprepared, distracted and flustered. The great hall was just that: a vast room with a high domed ceiling. Six large, square windows dominated the far right wall. The light streamed in from them and pooled on the shiny, tiled floor. As we slowly filed in my eyes were immediately drawn to the many huge tapestries that cascaded down the length of the left wall. One depicted a great, chaotic looking battle, another was an actual map of the city and a few were images of fierce looking men clad in armour. One of these stitched men seemed familiar and I aimed a concentrated stare at it, not realising I was now out of step with my counterparts who had already formed a neat line towards the front of the hall. Even when I had finally joined the formation I could not stop looking at it. It resembled my father, I realised with a horrid jolt of longing coursing through my tired body.

At the same time a loud, sharp cough reverberated easily through the space. It was the sort that did not indicate an illness or the clearing of a throat – it was pointed and impatient. I looked up quickly, dazed, to see the Governess positively glowering at me. She stood at the front of the hall on the edge of a raised platform. This platform also elevated a grand looking chair – no, a throne. Impressive in size and arresting to the eyes it must have been entirely solid gold. Empty of any occupant, I could see the backrest depicted two rearing horses, facing each other. The arm rests were in the shape of huge, clawed lion's paws and the legs resembled eagle's talons. It could not have been very comfortable to sit on, although it would make the owner look quite imposing I considered – which is when it dawned on me that was the whole point, as it must have been the King's seat for this hall. I cursed myself that my brain seemed to be working at a snail's pace when a slight, unexpected movement caught my eye and made me glance to the right of the throne. I expected to see another chair or throne there – and there was – but this time it _was_ occupied.

Instead of a golden chair leg, perhaps also depicting an eagle's talon, there was a large, tanned, sandaled foot. It peeked out from swathes of bright blue fabric, the colour customary for royal men. I should have averted my gaze then - I know - but I just could not tear it away. The desire to look upon his face was all-consuming.

As my eyes gingerly continued on their path upwards, I kept the rest of me very still and correct in a surreptitious move, I had assumed, as no other chiding coughs or vocal protestations from the toad had alerted me otherwise. Why does being expressly forbidden to do something actually heighten the desire to break that very same rule? Surely it could not just be a characteristic exclusively mine, I thought to justify my own compulsion.

Hector's peplos robe pooled a little in his seated lap. His arms were bare, also tanned and covered with masculine hair (but not so much that he looked like a wild animal). Those arms were of course contoured with well-developed muscle as expected but were not overly bulky, more athletic. Both of his large hands gripped loosely onto the very ends of the armrests, relaxed yet also somehow alert. The robe itself was secured at his shoulder by a notably simple and basic pin - functional yet surprisingly plain. I hesitated for a moment, focussing on the collar-like flat gold necklace that sat on his breastbone and glinted in the sunlight, almost too apprehensive to look upon the face I so yearned to see.

Dare I look upon a face I feared? But then again, I feared the unknown.

Then, with what I meant to be just a sneaking glance, I did it. He was perhaps ten or fifteen years or so older than me, I couldn't be sure. His face did not look like one of a warrior I remember thinking – perhaps it was the lack of battle disfigurement. He must have been the skilled combatant of legend to escape so unmarred. I guess you could say he had quite a prominent nose, which had been broken more than once and strange-shaped ears that were not over-sized but seemed to stick out from the sides of his head, even though his hair covered the very tops of them. His bottom lip was full, the top one much thinner. The most remarkable of his features were his eyes, which were very dark brown and to this end, quite unnerving. I could imagine them to be quite cold but at that moment, they held an expression of puzzlement. That is when I realised that he was already returning my gaze, those dark eyes narrowing. He did not look offended at my brazenness – he simply looked like he was trying to recall me from somewhere deep within his memory.

I averted my eyes quickly and stared at the floor, my heart pumping so fast it felt like it was wearing itself out. Funny to think that I was so absolutely mortified back then to have been caught catching just a glimpse of Hector – now I can recall every angular curve of his naked form and the positions of every mole and scar on his entire body.

I was not sent immediately from the hall in disgrace, in fact the Prince had not even uttered a word and I don't think he even moved an inch. It was then Governess that began to systematically question the girls, one by one, asking them general questions about their parentage, pedigree and skills.

I think you could agree that most sensible girls - who were due to be questioned last - would have spent this precious time formulating her own answers to such interrogation but no-one has ever labelled me as prudent. My quick glimpse of the Prince had somehow exhilarated me; I wondered why his inscrutable dark eyes considered me with slight recognition because somehow he suddenly seemed familiar to me too. Perhaps I was woozier than I had realised. Reality felt distorted and I certainly felt like I was dreaming. No real harm comes to you in dreams, I reasoned - so I could not help but to see how much I could push my luck and steal the odd peep every now and again.

Even before the first girl was invited to speak Prince Hector looked disinterested from the start and bored out his brain by the time girl number five was being asked questions. I was sure he would fall asleep before it was my turn. He shifted round and fidgeted on the hard looking throne as if his backside was hurting. He studied his fingernails, stared out of the window, anything than pay much attention to us. Every now and again at the appropriate moment, he would nod politely and his mouth would smile vaguely but, I noticed, those dark eyes remained unfathomable. I began to wonder how they would look if he was truly happy.

I should have been sick with nerves as the girl next to me began to speak instead, I was outraged by how conceited she appeared to sound. She announced in the excited manner of a bouncy puppy's yap that her name was Aoide and she loved to sing. Before the Governess could even ask her to elaborate, the girl had broken out into a high-pitched, warbling sound. Whoever told her she had a pleasant voice must have been born without ears, I thought - Sophus sang better than that when he was drunk. Forgetting myself as I wallowed in my own irritation, I rolled my eyes tiresomely, wishing she would stop. On their journey, my eyes somehow stopped at Hector again, who was staring at me once more, his head slightly bowed as he as he tried to suppress a rather wry smile. His eyes flashed then, showing me glimpses of at a sharp wit. Perhaps he was laughing at me. Was I a joke?

"You girl! Yes, you on the end!" The Governess shouted at me, uncalled for seeing as I was standing only a few feet away. My time had come. I tried to hide my distain for the toad woman as I looked to her, trying to remember where I had tucked my poise, grace and obedience.

"Your name? Your family?" The Governess asked abruptly. Not that these were really full questions; I think she intended to get me over and done with quickly because I was practically seen as an irrelevant option in her jaded eyes. I would not let her dampen my spirits, I was proud of my parents.

"My name is Phile, daughter or Erymas and Ariadne. My father was Captain of the Trojan army, and my mother is the daughter of a merchant from Chryse." I explained, just to make sure that they knew that I was not only of pure Trojan blood but of the middle classes too.

I did not cross my mind that my father's very name would be hold kudos or even be recognisable yet the whole atmosphere in the hall then seemed to change, it became close like charged air bearing down just before a great thunderstorm. Time slowed and pain rose from my chest to cool on my cheeks as I felt every eye in the room on me. Was it self-consciousness? The heat? The Governess's stern exterior was betrayed by a simple upward nod as if she was thinking "That _explains_ it." Hector sat up in his chair slightly with his previous noble and calm countenance distinctly more tense. He had freed a hand from its position on the armrest and had pressed the fingers to his lips as he frowned, deep in thought, considering me in a whole different light I suppose.

I hoped to the gods that the Governess wouldn't ask me about my accomplishments (as I had very few). Thankfully, she didn't. Instead I got asked the rather vague question:

"Why are you here?"

How open-ended could a question be! In general? Well, because I was invited quite simply! Or did she mean because of my father and his views on Hetaerae? I dismissed these thoughts immediately, to speak my first answer would have been too impertinent to consider; the second was irrelevant - the toad could not have possibly known father well enough to be aware of his views. In retrospect, I should have offered some sort of great deferential answer about how I wished to serve the Prince - such a great man after all, that being at his beck and call would have been a privilege and an honour. Yet, I would have been lying if I had said that. I panicked and my heart raced. The Governess elevated her arched eyebrow practically off the top of her fat face at anticipation of an answer I simply could not formulate. Even some of the girls were shocked at my irregular delay – I drew gasps from more than one which filled the room more effectively than my silence. I daren't look at the Prince. The floor tiles I was staring so hard at took on a dark blurriness in the borders of my vision. The silence rose until I could feel the very air rush past my ears in a rumble. Oh no, not now.

"I am here because no matter how small or insignificant it seems and although we may appear to have a choice in this world, all is exactly how the gods intended." I managed to say before my legs buckled under me.

"She's alive – definitely alive. Her heart rate is still a little raised in fact" I heard someone say as came round slowly.

My groggy brain sensed the touch of another on my clammy skin and that I wasn't quite sprawled on the floor where I should be. I knew I had fainted but for a moment, I had forgotten where I was. Disorientated, I could only muster the strength to flicker my eyes open. There was a dark blob looming over me, I could not quite focus on it and I panicked. I blinked and concentrated so hard to dissipate the mist clouding my eyes until the blob formed a shape and the shape formed a face. I recognised the eyes first, attentive yet this time so altogether warm. One skull-crushing hand gently cradled the back of my head, protecting me from the hard stone tiles whilst two fingers of the other throat-slashing hand were ever so softly pressed to the artery in my neck as he monitored my pulse.

It should have felt so absolutely improper to have a strange man in such proximity, so close I could smell his musky scent and the very heat from his body warmed my own.

It did not. Instead it felt natural somehow.

I did not have the strength – or the inclination – to struggle away from him and sit. Disarmed and lost in those deep, dark eyes I watched his face as his lips pulled into an affectionate smile, so tiny I knew it was only meant for my eyes.

"Well this is a first ... a beautiful woman lay before me without proper introduction." He murmured to me with a mischievous glint. He had a pleasant voice – deep, assured but not authoritative, not then anyway. "I am Hector. Pleased to finally be of your acquaintance, Phile."


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note - Hi everyone, thanks all for the lovely reviews, they really do gee me on to work on this more! :o) I am not sure how much this chapter works, it might be a little bitty in places, I haven't had much time to check it much. I just wanted you to get your next Hector fix before Easter! ;o)_

-0-

Poor Lysander. He had looked so crestfallen that I had not allowed him to escort me home. I hoped I would not land him in any sort of trouble with the Prince but I was feeling well enough to make the short journey alone and I needed some solitude to get my head around all that had transpired. If this remained a dream, I considered, I should have by now found myself barely awake in my own bed, heavy-eyed, muddled and confused as to what was reality.

I was muddled and confused all right but I was not in bed; I was slowly walking up the dusty hill leading home in the early afternoon. Fluffy clouds with burgeoning grey foundations had congregated in the sky, they shielded me from the full force of the midday sun and I was grateful; it would rain soon and I could almost taste the fresh atmosphere such a downpour would bring. How I yearned to sleep deeply with the cooling breeze wafting through my window. I did not even consider Sophus' likely return, I felt at peace at that moment and I wanted to linger in it for a while longer.

More than anything about that morning, the memory of Hector's touch lingered. When I dared to recall it, it caused short, hot tremors through me. I found this sensation alien and a little unsettling, as I simply could not fathom why I would want to keep indulging myself to recollect it.

As the hill's incline increased, I slowed a little, my feet now hurting after hours of being crammed into their dainty little slippers; the heat must have made them swell awfully. The road was almost deserted - seeing as it was the traditional midday rest time - apart from two women picking their way up the hill behind me, returning from a morning shopping at the market. Even though they were much older in age, they gained on me quickly. They talked leisurely of the weather, how some rain would be welcome for the dry plants in their gardens. One remarked fondly how she enjoyed watching the little birds busily hunting for worms once the ground had a soaking. As they passed, one of them recognised me and I her. She was the head housekeeper at one of the neighbouring houses and a very affable, sympathetic woman at that. She had not been blind to my family's situation and tried to help where she could - without interfering. Sometimes she would call on mother for some company, often she would generously bring some food for us when her household budget allowed. She greeted me by name, made a fuss over my 'lovely' dress and promptly reached into her basket to hand me a little hessian bag, instructing to me to hand it to mother when I arrived home, with her best wishes. I peaked inside and saw five or six large, fresh eggs. I rather fancied a late breakfast and the thought of eggs with toasted bread really ignited my appetite. I thanked her wholeheartedly, clasping the bag carefully to my body, making sure I wouldn't damage my fragile gift.

As I trundled down the tree lined avenue to our villa, the first few drops of rain began to fall. These must have been large as I could already hear their patter on the nearby canopied leaves of the smaller plants gathered around the trunks of the cypresses. I increased my pace a little, not wanting to become too damp but as the front of the villa came into view, I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw an odd scene that I certainly did not expect.

In the front courtyard were two men seated on idle horses. Judging by their bright bronze breast plates and the domed helmets they both sported, they were soldiers of Troy. One of the men held onto the reigns of a particularly splendid white mare next to him who was fully tacked-up yet missing of a rider. They appeared to be waiting for something – or someone. Odd. With the cloud-darkened sky, I struggled to make much out in the fading light so curious, I cautiously continued my path closer to the front door. The man holding onto the reigns looked rather formidable, the helmet curving around his eyes and down his nose. Although it obscured most of his features apart from his eyes and mouth, he appeared to be grimacing wretchedly, lost in his own dour thoughts. The other soldier did not look so troubled. Dressed in identical kit, he held an air of obedient utility. I could see that attached to his horse was a yoke and cart. Something long lay on the bed of this, wrapped tightly and completely in sack cloth. The shape - it looked like a body.

Mother!

I dropped the bag of eggs in pure unadultered panic and started towards the house as fast as my dress would allow. But just then, the front door opened and my mother emerged. She did not notice me; she looked far too preoccupied and furious. She stormed over to the cart, marching with clenched fists. Following her out through the door came another, far more composed than mother. He was so tall he had to stoop a little to pass through and out. Sharp as an arrowhead, his keen dark eyes noted my presence. He acknowledged me with a polite nod although concern was still knitted in his brow.

He was resplendent in his armour – the horse moulded into his bright breastplate, his-under tunic the same deep blue colour as he had worn that morning and his horse-hair plumed helmet resting in the crook of his arm. His hair was still tied at the nape of his neck but now his curls fell messily around his face, rumpled by wearing that helmet for a time, no doubt.

Why was _he_ of all people _here_?

He looked like he had visited on official business.

He looked as if he had carried bad tidings with him.

He must have changed his mind about me, I concluded hastily, utterly deflated. I wanted to cry.

You see, despite the odds, my obvious unconventionality, preparedness, condition and the embarrassing fainting incident – Hector had chosen me. It _did_ defy all logic.

I was baffled how quickly he had changed his mind - the air in which he spoke to the Governess earlier that morning had made me believe he had been so adamant about me.

Hector had been surprisingly conscientious with my welfare. Only after he had helped me to sit following my collapse, I could see that the Governess and the other girls had moved some feet away from me as if I had contracted some contagious disease or if I were some pitiable a mute swan singing her final lament. It was obvious that Hector had been the only person in that room who had come to my aid when I had fainted.

He called for his "boy" to fetch me something sweet to drink and a chair to rest on (Lysander promptly appeared – the cheeky so-and-so had told me he was an errand boy but not Hector's own personal errand boy!). Hector coldly chided the Governess for not taking better care of me. He went on to curtly tell her that rather than partaking in preparations for the joining ceremony, I was allowed to return home that day, as he thought I should be recuperating with my family for the night (it had never occurred to me, or mother, that I might have been required to begin life at the palace right away – thank goodness I had been given the opportunity to return home, at least I could bid her farewell properly).

The Governess had been confused; it was mixed with a distinct contortion of horror on her ruddy face. She could not quite understand why Hector had wanted me to be in good health to _return_ - or rather she could not quite believe why Hector would choose me. Hector, however had thought his instructions were crystal clear and it clearly irritated him further that the Governess could be such a simpleton.

"What part of my instructions are unclear to you Governess?" he glared at her. Her fat shape seemed to diminish as she shrunk away from him. I did not blame her, those eyes were positively black at that point, very intimidating. "I choose Phile." He added with firm assurance.

"Any of the other girls my lord?" The Governess had eventually brought herself to ask nervously, still seemingly bemused. It was highly unusual for a royal man to pick only one, I suppose.

"No, Governess. I do not wish for a whole harem of girls, it is unnecessary." He had dismissed tiresomely. He went on to politely thank the other girls for coming, although it did not prevent any of them for looking decidedly disappointed. Aoide looked as if she might burst into tears which I hate to admit, gave me an abundance of personal satisfaction.

It was then a guard came to Hector to pass on a message. He took the Prince aside as they conferred to keep the matter appropriately private. As the guard spoke to Hector in a respectful yet low voice, Hector's eyes blackened further with dissatisfaction. The bridge of his nose furrowed as he took the information in, understood it. He brought the thumb and forefinger of his right hand up to pinch the furrow, as if a pain was forming there, then he sighed heavily before addressing the Governess directly again.

"There is an urgent matter I must attend to. See the boy escorts Phile home. She may return tomorrow when she is rested and better prepared."

Then with a rapid sweep of his blue robe, he was gone. He had not even bid farewell.

Now, Hector was stood behind my mother in the front courtyard of our family home, watching regretfully as she aimed pitiful punches at the bound shape that lay on the bed of the cart. She was omitting a strange strangled, frustrated and angry cry from between her clenched teeth as she reigned the blows.

Neither Hector or his men seemed to think of doing the proper thing in stopping mother make such a spectacle of herself so I went over there myself, outraged that nobody was helping mother to contain herself. It was just in time to get a ringside seat as she tore off what was a hood from the bound shape. It _was _a body. It was Sophus.

He had clearly been dead for some hours, his face devoid of even the drunken ruddiness that usually smeared his cheeks. Dried blood was evident around his thin puckered lips and chin. He reminded me of the drained pig carcasses, hung and cured around the butcher's stall in the market.

I was shaken and disgusted. Sophus' was the first corpse I had ever laid eyes on – sadly I cannot say that it was also my last. My natural reaction was to back away, naturally horrified but as I did, I seemed to hit a tall tree behind me. I stumbled over a root or so it felt – more likely a sandled foot - then I felt a large hand clasp my shoulder to steady and calm me.

"There was a fight ..." Hector's voice explained softly in my ear from behind. "... He took just one blow to the stomach ... there must have been an ulcer there that burst."

Mother had stopped hitting Sophus' body. Instead, she gathered all the mucus she could from her mouth and discharged it all over his cold, pale face in a final vengeance. Sophus had rightfully earned such disrespect for sure but I stared on, wondering what Hector and his men thought of such behaviour. Surely they were accustomed to newly-widowed women wailing and gathering the body to their bosoms is desperate grief?

"Try not to look Phile." Hector gently entreated, this time closer as I felt his warm breath on my ear.

The hand on my shoulder swivelled inwards slightly to allow Hector's large thumb to gently caress the bare, soft skin on my neck. He meant to comfort and calm me. It was conflictingly appropriate because the gesture was so small and undetectable from the eyes of others yet wholly inappropriate as it felt so intimate, far too informal since we had barely been acquainted. Was I a wicked, wanton girl to yearn for more? It was not the moment to object I decided. In fact, I rocked back on my heels a little and leant some of my weight against him (but only because I was very upset and sought protection, I told myself). He silently accepted the burden of me and there we stayed for a beautiful moment, strangely at ease with one another, apart from my heart pounding fast. I could no longer feel the quickening rain.

It was only when my mother finally spoke that he moved away from me, once more a vision of regal propriety. I was a little dismayed at the sensation of his warmth dissipating from me.

"Could I please request that you take him away from here?"Mother was gesturing to the body but was looking up hopefully to the dark eyes of my tall tree. She did speak in a rather firm tone seeing as she was speaking to the Prince I thought.

It did not matter, as Hector did not seem to be insulted. In fact, He did not even question her outlandish request and I began to wonder how much knew. He nodded in answer, adding that Sophus could be interred into a mass pauper's grave outside the city walls.

Just a poignant flicker of my mother's weary eyes seemed to answer that question for him and he nodded his compliance certainly as if he were himself a lowly soldier taking orders. I watched, already feeling bereft as Hector donned his helmet and mounted his fine white horse quickly, with vigour.

As I stared at him sitting up there high on his steed with those now familiar features masked I was overawed the vision – he was transcendent and fear-provoking at the same time, exactly how you would imagine a warrior Prince to appear, to his people and to his enemies.

"The man responsible for your husband's death – are you certain that you do not require me to punish him appropriately for his crime?" he asked mother. His horse was now restless, it's muscles tensing and ready to run.

"No. Thank you my Prince." Mother bowed graciously which I took also to mean farewell.

Hector nodded at her again in genteel acceptance then turned his attention to me.

"Tomorrow Phile."

I thought it had been a statement rather than a question - yet he waited for an answer.

"Yes, tomorrow." I agreed, my heart pounding again. This time I could feel the patter of the rain on my skin.

He dug his heels into his horse, proficiently instructing it to trot. Mother and I both watched silently as the Prince and his party made their way up the avenue and away, astonished at the sudden turn of events and our unusual visitors. My intuition told me that mother knew more about it than I did however. Perhaps I did not want to know.

"Now that Sophus has gone, I do not have to leave you mother." I murmured, hardly registering the words touching my lips as I spoke them.

"Come now Phile ... the Prince gave you the option to decline him and you still said 'yes'." She smiled knowingly as she put her arm around me proudly.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note - Hey all, hope you all had a good Easter break. This chapter is a bit all filler and no killer I am afraid but I had to put it in!_

_Enjoy!_

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I stood on the balcony of my new apartment whilst the sun – now a large rusty orange daub – slowly descended behind the purpling horizon of the calm sea. I pulled the clip that was tightly holding up my hair out with relief. As my wavy long tresses tumbled around my shoulders, a twilight breeze suddenly whisked through it. The resulting chill caused me to hold my arms to shield my body, crossed around my waist whilst gooseflesh started to cover my shoulders.

This had been the only real day I was allowed to acclimatise to my new home and life and I had certainly been thrown into the deep end. The moment I would officially became Hector's was drawing ever closer, I thought to myself with a shiver.

Being Hetaerae was not – and had never been – an objective of mine, yet deep down, belonging to Hector inexplicably felt like my calling now, despite my increasing misgivings about him. I did loathe myself for how quickly I could relinquish the values that father had instilled in me, however. Then of course, there were the obvious drawbacks: Leaving my home and my beloved mother for this alien place; my body no longer being my own and the laws of my country not permitting me to marry or have a proper recognised family. The latter did not vex me much admittedly; I had never imagined myself as a wife and mother anyway.

As much as I tried, I could not envisage how I could simply slot into Hector's life. He was such an important man of the highest social standing; an expert in politics and battle and apparently much more complex than I previously gave him credit for. On the other hand, I was a misshaped puzzle piece - a young unremarkable woman with no real skills apart from letting my stubbornness rule my head and a notable talent of leaping before looking. Hetaerae were supposed to entertain and delight their masters, act as female companions - how could Hector and I ever get along when we had nothing seemingly mirrored in our respective personalities and interests?

Of course, I had fast realised that men and women do not need to possess common ground to engage in other more 'private activities' together. I was also aware – with great trepidation – that I was expected to appease Hector in the bedroom, not that I knew how. I considered the very few moments when he had touched me (when I had fainted; before the sight my stepfathers' corpse) and I naively concluded that they had been protective gestures rather than something more lustful. Perhaps I did not arouse his ardour. No wonder really as I had heard talk that men tend to have a 'type' of female that they are generally physically attracted to and I looked nothing like his wife, whom he clearly adored. I suddenly wished I was taller and slimmer as my pulled arms lower down across my body and hugged my wide hips, trying to somehow push them inwards.

My heavy eyes then traced a pair of crows as they flew overhead, cawing gently to each other as they searched for a place to roost for the night. The black silhouette of their wings against the faded blue of the sky was reminiscent of Hector's eyes and his royal robes. I heaved a sigh. That man ever-present in this place, even when absent. I had even been assigned a chamber was in Hector's wing of the palace. There would be no escaping him.

It was, however, a beautiful room. It was and as large (if not larger) as the whole ground floor of the villa and had a wide, west facing window which lead out to the balcony. At the centre of my room was a huge and comfortable bed, round in shape, strewn with furs and silk cushions. It was a lot different than any other bed I had seen or slept in due to its sheer size and the opulent coverings. Next to this was a wooden nightstand on which stood nothing but a couple of bottles of oil. They smelt rich and fruity and I was puzzled as to their purpose. On the wall adjacent to the door was my dressing table which was full of scents, soaps, pots of cosmetics, brushes, brooches and clips - a confusing myriad of superficial baubles that were not personal to me as yet. Near to this was a closet that I did not dare to open. I had not been permitted to bring any of my own belongings, for I was not Phile, daughter of Erymas and Ariadne any longer; now I was Phile, Hetaerae of Hector, Crown Prince of Troy. Most girls would have loved a closet full of new robes – but not this one. Whatever fine cloth presided in there signified the person I was expected to be and I was not of the inclination to meet her yet.

Most conspicuous of all was a large bath, sunken into the floor. It was lined with tiny white mosaic tiles and had a shelf-like seat running around the inside. The bath surprised and baffled me in equal amounts; I had never seen one so large, it was like a pool and I was sure it would easily accommodate six or so people. It never once crossed my mind that I might be sharing it.

Earlier that day when I had first been shown to my new quarters, the bath had been the most immediate thing my eyes were drawn to; I had contemplated it alone for only a few moments before the Governess decided to grace me with her presence, unannounced of course. She had burst in with all the gracefulness of a snuffling boar. Perhaps I should have asked her about it then. Perhaps it was up to me to ask _all_ the questions rather than wait to be told. I had many yet I was too ashamed to voice them. I did not want to sound stupid.

The Governess seemed to be in a hurry to get the particular chore of seeing me out of the way. She spoke in short, flippant bursts, avoiding eye contact. When she did not take a seat anywhere in the room, I realised she meant not to stay. She had wrongly assumed that I had already explored my room well enough _not_ to show me around herself - it was only much later that I discovered the new weaving loom tucked behind a dressing screen (which would be a dust gatherer rather than a useful tool to me) and that I had the luxury of a seated water closet hidden discreetly in a smaller, separate adjoining room (only later when I desperately searched for a chamber pot in the middle of the night did I find this). However, she did point out to me a small altar partially hidden behind the drapes that festooned my window. It appeared to be dedicated the Aphrodite. Apparently, I was expected to make regular offerings to this altar in honour of Hector and his wife. My father's voice resounded in my head then, stating that to be Hetaerae was to be part of an adulterous relationship. Perhaps the offerings were meant to exonerate my guilt, I pondered mournfully.

There was still considerable amount of information to take in, despite the short time the Governess spent with me. It turns out that there were some definite perks to the role. Mine would be a uniquely powerful position for a woman in my society: I was allowed to further my education in any way I saw fit; I would be allowed to join Hector at the usually all-male Symposia gatherings where my presence and opinions would be welcomed and respected by the men. I was also permitted to wander where I pleased at the palace.

But, in payment for all these benefits I was expected to obey my master (or 'Kyrios') and be available when he required me, be it day or night. Along with this, I was forbidden to entertain any other man - for me to be unfaithful would be punishable by death. In fact, on the days or nights that Hector did not visit my chamber, the Governess said she would come to inspect my bed sheets to ensure that I had not been up to anything illicit. Apparently a couple of girls in her care had been executed in the past because she had found tell-tale stains. I could tell I would be kept on a tight leash, like a disobedient pet.

I had to wear the robes of Hetaerae of course, but only around the palace to signify my position, not in the bedroom. In the bedroom I had to wear as much or as little as the Kyrios desired. I wondered whether my new robes would be provocative, ritualistic or burden-like heavy swathes of material to shield my figure from rival male attention. My skin was still sore of bearing the load of my mother's old wedding dress for the selection process; I secretly prayed to the gods my Hetaerae robes were not as much of an encumbrance.

A girl was then quickly ushered in for introduction as my dressing maid. I had not considered that I would be entitled to my own servant and to be terribly honest, I felt I did not require one. I had always been somewhat of a loner; I enjoyed my own company and the solitude it brought. Besides, after so many years of making do without help at the villa, I had no idea how to deal with the responsibility of a maid and how to oversee one of my very own. The servants I do remember from the happier times at home had seemed more like trusted companions rather than workers; something told me that I would never be friends with this girl - she was a nervous looking little thing and eyed me with distinct fright. I wondered if she had a name, I meant to ask except it seemed to do so may have traumatized the poor little mouse. She stood there silently as the Governess waddled over to the door to leave. Was that it? Had my instruction been completed so abruptly?

"What of tomorrow?" I called after the Governess, anxious I had been told nothing of the ceremony.

The Governess paused in her tracks and did not even turn to face me fully; she simply peered over her monstrous shoulder and shrugged. The very tip of her chin, the only bone structure there usually visible, disappeared into her gigantic soft neck:

"Tomorrow the ceremony - followed by a banquet - then the Prince will require some private time here with you to properly cement the pairing. You must lay with him and let him do to you as he pleases. Mark my words girl - he will not appreciate your apparent strong will. To refuse him is to disgrace yourself before the laws of Troy and the Gods".

My stomach somersaulted, flopping in its own bile. So, here he will impress his dominance I thought, eyeing the bed much more suspiciously than before. I suddenly recalled those friezes in the white room and felt a distinct sense of foreboding - I expected whatever he would do to me to bring me shame, to be undignified - and to hurt.

The Governess did not linger. Despite the bulk she carried around, she could move rather fast. Before I could snap out of my paralysing apprehension, she had already gone, leaving me in the room with the mouse girl who trembled and stared meekly at the floor as if she was wishing she could merge with the flagstones to hide from me.

Frustration welled in my stomach and I was in no mood for company. So remembering the fact I could wander where I pleased, I had taken the very hastily decision to exercise my restless legs before they either buckled from underneath me (again) or simply decided to carry me away for good. With no idea of where I was (or should) be going, I found myself on a short and rather direct route to the stables.

It was remarkably close to the stables from Hector's apartments. I found my way via the courtyard's covered walkway, travelling in the opposite direction to the Great Hall. From there, an uninterrupted path took me away from the palace itself, past a group of trees on one side and a couple of storage outbuildings stuffed with drying hay on the other. Only after a few moments, I could see the distinctive gables of what was undoubtedly the stable roof. It emerged slowly, looming above me as I climbed the brow of a small hillock. It started to make sense that Hector section of the palace was situated very nearby; he was famed for his passion for the equine beasts. He must have spent a lot of his free time there I mused absently.

As I neared the group of trees I heard the unmistakable chink of bronze against bronze. It made me realise that the fenced circle ahead next to the stable building was not just an animal enclosure but a training arena. That noise did not bother me; it ignited my curiosity rather than my fear as it reminded me of watching my father train when I was little. I would sit crossed-legged on the ground, elbows on my dirty knees and chin resting on my palms to watch him adoringly as he practised on a wooden mannequin in the grounds of our home. I could have watched him all day - he was the bravest man I knew but then again; every little girl's father is her hero.

Not wanting for my presence to disrupt practice, I concealed myself behind a thick-trunked tree and lifted my flattened hand to my brow against the glaring afternoon sunlight to see into the centre. I could make out two figures in the haze, battling fiercely in a duel. As I watched the tallest man move, block, swipe and attack gracefully like a dance, I almost mistook him for my father. I thought I was seeing things. But as my eyes became more accustomed to the light I realised him to be Hector.

I watched him pound the other man's shield with his huge sword, fearless and unrelenting. He moved very much like father although Hector seemed more merciless, not concerning himself too much with self-preservation over vanquishing his enemy. Although his opponent was almost matched in height and build the poor man was obviously nowhere near as skilled or as bold as his shield arm visibly weakened and the blows drove him backwards into submission. Hector resembled a lion toying with its prey before the kill.

I was suddenly frightened and disturbed by the sight of Hector's raw brutality. I grasped the flaky bark and my heart pounded in my chest as Hector quickly knocked his adversary's shield to the floor with a dramatic clatter. Soon the other man was lying next to it in a great cloud of dust, thrown to the ground due to a violent shove from Hector's right shoulder. The point of Hector's blade was hovering closely above the skin of the man's neck. I closed my eyes, practically shaking at what I had just witnessed. I did not want to see what happened next. I feared the worst.

But I prized my eyelids open just in time to see Hector discard his sword and offer the same hand to the defeated man, helping him up. They appeared to be laughing and joking, arms around shoulders, giving each other congratulatory pats on the back.

Witnessing that fight earlier caused me much conflict. I wondered who Hector was exactly: The charming and courteous gentleman with the warm eyes I had personally experienced or the ferocious animal brandishing a sword, muscles pulsing with sheer agression that I had witnessed. Couldn't a man be both of these things, I asked myself, thinking about my father. Still, I could not help feeling uneasy about Hector. Whoever he was, I would be be subject to his whims and mercy. He practically owned me now.

I still stood there on the balcony as I mulled this over and watched as a lone servant - the only soul I had so far witnessed down there in the greenery - lit basins and lamps lining the courtyard and the winding pathways through the plants and trees. I had been so absorbed in my own troubles I had not noticed night quickly draw in. The cicadas were already singing to each other. Happily, my balcony overlooked the courtyard with the fountain, the very same one that I fell in love with the day before. Now I had an even better view, not just of the gardens but out beyond the perimeter wall. I could see a portion of the city, streets vaguely plotted out from the light emitting from homes, shops, baths and taverns. Far from a sleepy view I felt a sense of energy radiating as if the daytime had only been lingering preparation; for the night seemed the point the city really burst alive.

It was then I suddenly felt that terrible, primal pang of being watched, in the way that a rabbit can sense its predator. My eyes were immediately drawn to the darkness of the walkway at the far side of the courtyard. I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of a dark man-shaped silhouette step backwards into the total shadow of the very corner against the brickwork there, now perfectly hidden in the gloom. Perhaps it was a ghost or more likely figment of my imagination - the mind can play strange tricks when it is immersed in worry. Still, despite my rational conclusion, it made me shiver again nonetheless so I retreated back inside.

I sunk down on the bed cheerlessly, my fingers parting as I slid them absently through a soft fur crushed underneath me. There was so of my future that I wanted to forget yet so much of my immediate past that I could not forget, overlook or simply leave behind - perhaps this was a sign of weakness; perhaps it was a sign of strength.

Along with my existing doubts about Hector's true character, I felt he already kept secrets from me and worst of all; mother seemed to be in cohorts, as if they had been scheming together.

I had been of the distinct impression there had been more to the circumstances surrounding Sophus' death than I had been hastily informed. I only had that vague explanation from Hector to go by and mother had refused to utter a word on the subject after the Prince left us that day, despite constant questioning. I could not fathom why Sophus' death required the attendance of Troy's Prince and his men to the house of the widow, surely an uncommon or rather, unheard of occurrence when such a lowly dog of a man is killed. My suspicions were further alerted when Hector and his men had not seemed one bit surprised at mother's very converse reaction to her husband's death. Why were they not all shocked?

My mind naturally wandered to Mother. I wondered that she was doing that evening. She had seemed unnaturally calm and pleased during our final farewell that morning, it had been as if she was waving me off for a day, not a _lifetime_ at the palace. Granted, I did not have to abandon her to Sophus any longer but still, I was most upset to leave her as you can imagine. It was such a wrench; I cried like a baby and I currently felt so sick for home already, even after a few short hours at the palace. Mother had been more troubled by the eggs I had managed to drop and break on the ground, for which I received a scolding for. I worried that with losing her second husband, she had also finally lost her mind. I hoped I could persuade Hector to let me visit her at least, I did not like to think of her all alone. He could not be so cold-hearted as to deny me of that, could he?

I did not know how I would ever feel settled in my new life with all these concerns and unanswered mysteries; my inquisitive nature and tendency to over-think certainly made sure I did not trust the very man I was there in honour of. I felt in control of nothing and I feared it would remain that way for all the years stretching out ahead of me, as if I ran on a road with no turnpikes, no rest stops. I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes, trying to imagine I was somewhere more familiar and comforting.

When I did finally get to sleep that night, it was fitful and fragmented. I dreamt of much horror - frightful shadowy apparitions under the courtyard walkway watched and goaded as Hector, a hulking beast, chased me. He effortlessly felled me, making me land on my front. I did not struggle. Holding me captive with a clawed hand grasped around the scruff of my neck he hungrily stripped my gown off with one deft rip from the other paw, leaving me naked and exposed so he could begin to devour me. I knew he would take his time and savour me. I also knew I would feel much pain yet somehow, I was resigned to it. Sophus' dead body was hanging from a tree like a drained pig carcass at the butchers: "He will consume you and discard you!" Sophus' upside-down blood-flaked mouth was chanting.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note_

_Another! And more to come in quick succession! Don't pat me on the back about this though - this chapter does not differ that greatly from the original and the next few coming have already been largely written. Then I guess it will be the return of my old friend writer's block. Great._

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The first time I wore the crimson robe and collar of Hetaerae was on the day of the joining ceremony, where I was officially given to Hector in the eyes of law – and the gods.

I had been at the palace just one day – no time was wasted. The Governess and my maid had spent hours beforehand preparing me. I was woken up at dawn and had spent the rest of the morning rather bleary-eyed and bemused and they worked on me: bathing me; shaving me; meticulously applying cosmetics (eyes heavily lined with kohl paste as was fashionable for women of the palace) and dressing my hair. It turned out that my 'official' robes were very similar to priestess' – they were woven from fine thread which hung so beautifully around the shoulders and legs. Instead of being white like a priestess' virgin robes, ours were a deep crimson colour. With this, I also had to wear a breathtaking yet quite restrictive necklace (or rather, collar) made of golden wire, artfully woven into fine and intricate patterns. It was secured across my throat, with the bottom of it laying flat across my breast bone - as you can probably imagine it was huge. It seemed ridiculous to me that I should be able to wear such a precious object day-to-day but it had its purposes, both aesthetically and ritually: it drew attention to our necks, shoulder blades, cleavage and backs - all seen as incredibly erotic parts of a woman's body – and yet the sheer size of it symbolised the weight of our promise to give ourselves completely to our Kyrios. Lastly, I was I made to eat the traditional joining ceremony breakfast of nothing but pomegranates (I assumed this must symbolise something but apparently not – I discovered much later that the fruit was used as a contraceptive method). It had been pure luck that I managed to keep this rather unpalatable meal down as the acid from the fruit made my stomach jolt and churn with so much further fuelling my violent apprehensions. I could not stop wishing that my mother were at my side instead of the Governess. I longed for the comfort of familiarity.

The temple itself was hidden outside the city walls, nestled in the lush green hills beyond, a short journey by chariot from the palace. The picturesque, peaceful surroundings did not make me feel any less depressed. In fact, the thin air at that altitude caused my chest to feel tight and I began to have trouble regulating my breathing. Right at the crucial moment as I waited outside the temple to be called in by the priestess, I began feel faint again. Believe it or not, illness and fainting were not the norm for me, I was - and am - generally made up of a much stronger constitution; yet the drama of the past few days had certainly rocked me to the core. The Governess, more business-like than sympathetic in her approach to me, promptly propped me up on the driest rock she could find and made me drink from a tiny vial she had tucked in the belt of her gown. To this day I have no idea what it contained - all I remember that as I drank, I felt instantly calmed and somewhat more fortified. When the door to the temple opened for me, I found I was nervous no longer to the point of being emotionless. The elixir certainly helped me cope but I would have preferred to feel something, even fear, rather than numbness.

The ceremony itself a very unassuming affair compared to most. Instead of the whole of the town celebrating our union like perhaps with a royal wedding, in was kept hushed with only the priestess, Hector and I in attendance - taking on a Hetaerae was quite a serious affair, it seemed. When the priestess finally called on me, I entered the temple alone and slowly walked up the petal-strewn walkway, head bowed. All I could do was watch my own feet pad silently on the tiled floor but I could already sense Hector's black eyes on me.

Hector had been waiting patiently for me by a large flat stone altar that stood before a giant marble statue of Aphrodite. The goddess herself was always portrayed as a picture of sexuality and fertility – naked, large breasts, hips, stomach and bottom. I looked up at the statue, suddenly in awe. Lamps burned steadfastly in every conceivable corner and empty space of the temple as if Apollo had granted us the light himself as a blessing. I looked to Hector's direction although I still could not find the courage tomeet his eyes. This time he wore a pure white peplos robe, with his crown of golden laurel leaves that laying perfectly on his uncharacteristically neat dark curls. His outfit reflected the lamps in the temple and for a moment, he seemed to be radiating a halo. As Hector and I finally stood side-by-side, it was evident that I did not even come up to one of his broad shoulders, he was so tall. I knew that the elixir had intoxicated me as when finally found the courage to look upon his face, I realised that it was not quite handsome in the conventional sense – that face was not symmetrical or perfect by any means - but there was much attractive character in those features. I remember counting my blessings that I was to be the Hetaerae of such a good-looking gentleman who possessed a strong athletic physique when I could have been stuck with some man who was ugly, fat and balding with missing teeth.

Thankfully the ceremony was nothing like the one performed over one hundred years previously. Back then, the Hetaerae would enter naked, lay down on a gold ceremonial bed and, after being anointed by the High Priestess, the Kyrios would take her virginity right then and there. Tastes and views had changed and advanced since then and at least the privacy of a copulating couple was respected these days. Our more civil ceremony was over fairly quickly. The priestess began to speak in a continuous and strange chanting voice as she anointed both of our foreheads and chests with rose scented water. She then took my wrist and joined Hector's right hand to my left, locking our fingers together and then binding a golden twine tightly around both of our hands to symbolise the union. A few minutes later, a white bull calf, an offering to Aphrodite was led out and held down onto the altar. The priestess untied our joined hands slowly. Then she reached for a jewelled dagger that lay on a golden dish, offered to her by an acolyte. With its sharp blade, she quickly cut from my head a lock of hair that embodied my virginity. This lock would be presented at the feet of an effigy of Artemis, Goddess of the wilderness and hunting – and associated with menstruation and virginity. After the ceremony it would be taken to her imagine which stood in the Shrine of the Gods deep within the palace. My journey from childhood to maturity would be marked by this dedication.

The priestess then placed the dagger first in my grasp - making sure I wrapped the fingers of both my hands on the hilt - and then she placed Hector's hands over mine (his were so big they covered mine completely). His skin there was rough and calloused but his touch was again, surprisingly gentle. We had to slaughter the calf; we had to slit its throat together. As the calf make a terrible panicked wailing noise I looked into its watery brown eyes. It looked as terrified as I was. I balked at the thought of killing it, which Hector must have sensed:

"Do not be scared Phile." He whispered with an understanding smile.

This made me blush a little - perhaps it was his smile or maybe I was embarrassed at my own uselessness, I do not know - but somehow any reservations I had about the sacrifice disappeared. I was still in a daze as together; we slowly drove the knife against the soft throat of the calf - thankfully with most of Hector's force, not mine. There was a certain way of sacrificing an animal so it was quick and the animal would die painlessly but my hands were shaking so much I would have made a real mess of it all without him. The Priestess then opened the calf's chest for me as, alone; I had to remove the heart (which to my utter disgust was still warm and beating a little). I held the bloody muscle in my hands, thick red liquid covering my fingers and dripping down my forearms as the priestess gave the knife to Hector. He had to castrate the calf which he did with ease and without batting an eyelid. The heart was a symbol of my body and soul and the genitals a symbol of Hector's phallus and virility, offerings we each made to Aphrodite. We lay them side-by-side on the golden dish that held the dagger. Later, these body parts were roasted with the meat at the celebration banquet. I definitely got the worst part of the deal, as I had to eat the testicles whilst Hector had to eat the heart.

To my surprise, Hector's wife, Princess Andromache was apparently waiting hidden and unseen in the wings; as it was she who signalled the end of the ceremony. The acolyte gave her two garlands made of red and white flowers - colours of life and purity. The princess stepped forward and hung one first around my neck, kissing me on the cheek and then the other around Hector's neck, also kissing him on the cheek to signify her blessing of the union.

After the ceremony was over, we quietly returned to the great hall of the palace for the celebration banquet. There seemed to be a strict guest list however – in attendance were only the men of the palace and their own Hetaerae who of course, we dressed identically to me. It was my first Symposium.

We were not sat in chairs or on benches at high tables; Hector did not take his place enthroned on the platform at the front - things at the Symposium were a little more informal. Skirting the edges of the room were low tables, only just raised from the floor with cushions scattered around underneath for the guests to sit on. The centre of the room was left clear; space for entertainment and for the servants to bring more dishes to the tables. I could not believe the sheer volume of the food that was laid out on steaming platters already – fine, tender meats and exotic, colourful fruit that I don't think I had ever seen before, I am sure it must have been imported in especially from far-away lands. As tasty as it all looked – and smelt – I could not eat a morsel; my stomach was twisted in knots. I felt relatively uneasy just being with Hector in a crowd I thought, I agonised about what would happen later that night when we were alone. As I glumly picked one solitary grape from a juicy bunch laid in front of me, I noticed two Hetaerae whispering in the far corner as their cold eyes ridiculed me - I was clearly being judged and discussed. I realised then I would have to be very cautious around my peers. My new 'sisters' looked to be a very cliquey.

I was seated on the floor next to my Kyrios who had immediately engaged in conversation with a man next to him: they looked alike - they had the same facial shape and unusual ears so I assumed it was one of his many brothers, although I was not introduced. Hector was asking him to the whereabouts of someone called 'Jasper', to which the other man simply shrugged blithely in answer. Judging by Hector's sudden frown, it did not please him much. He took a sip of wine from his newly-filled cup and stared into it, momentarily brooding.

It struck me that perhaps those two Hetaerae had been watching and gossiping about us both - Hector and I looked so unusually unhappy given the occasion. I had no idea what to say to Hector to bring him cheer. Instead I quietly and self-consciously surveyed the room although it appeared that my presence had largely gone unnoticed. The men leisurely drank, laughed and postured; I heard snippets of conversation about politics, betting, women and sport. They seemed to enjoy teasing each other greatly and they were all very competitive. The Hetaerae were dotted around here and there, some in deep in conversation with men; some with each other, one was strumming a lyre and another was massaging the feet of her Kyrios. Some very skimpily clad dancing girls then wound their way into the centre of the room. The golden bells around their waists and ankles lightly jingling was then almost drowned out by the emphatic cheering of the male revellers. I was pretty sure these worshippers of Dionysus more were roused by the naked breasts of the dancers on show rather than any actual graceful and skilled routines that might be performed.

Hector leaned over and whispered in my ear as I watched the proceedings with an air of wonderment and irritation:

"Please eat, you will make yourself ill. Don't be nervous - all these people are here in honour of you!"

"I think they came for the food and the near-naked women – they do not know I am here." I replied quickly, nonplussed, with a sardonic arch of my eyebrow.

He watched me intently for a moment and grinned, amused at my on-the-mark observation.

"_I_ know you are here." He said pointedly.

I could not reply, rapt by those profound dark eyes.

He picked his goblet from the table again:

"For the gods." He smiled and poured a little of his wine onto the floor.

"For the gods" I smiled back the best I could manage and did the same. It was a Trojan custom for good fortune, a little offering to the gods to appease them.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note_

_Well, this is the moment Phile literally gives herself to the Prince. Be warned, it's really not anything resembling sweetness and romance! Things will get better for her, I promise._

**_-0-_**

I was in my chamber alone when he arrived. I had already been stripped of those fine clothes before being scrubbed almost red raw; my long tresses let loose from the pins and decorations that had taken an age to perfectly place on my head that morning. I was not given another robe to wear; my maid had been preparing one but the Governess had halted her, telling her brusquely: "Men do not have the patience to unwrap gifts". I felt so terribly exposed: as soon as they took their leave of me, I jumped into the bed, pulling the silken sheets up to my neck to protect my modesty.

The wait felt like an eternity but in truth, it was probably only a few minutes. I know that people always describe the nervous feeling you get in your stomach as 'butterflies' but mine felt more like I had a raging bull stomping around in there.

Hector arrived with a noisy flourish. The door swung open suddenly without as much as an announcing knock. He strode in confidently; my maid scurrying in his wake carrying a silver tray balancing two goblets and a pitcher of wine. The girl set them down on the bedside table without a glance at me and dashed out as quickly as she had arrived. Her demeanour was such a contrast to the Prince, who stood there so tall and broad in his grand white robe and laurel crown, staring coolly at me. I remained motionless, except for my eyes widening. I must have looked like a stunned roe – or frightened rabbit – aware of her hunter because all of a sudden, his strong shoulders relaxed and he glanced to the floor awkwardly, coughing nervously.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you." He muttered.

It struck me then that he did not look like the fearsome warrior I had witnessed or the brute my stepfather had tormented me of - more like a clumsy giant. I noticed that the garland his wife had placed on his shoulders during the ceremony still hung from his neck. He saw me eye it in curious puzzlement and he quickly removed it, coughing nervously again. I began to wonder if he did not want to be there just as much as I, as it certainly seemed that way.

He quickly regained his proud composure and seated himself on my dressing table chair, arranging the many folds of his robe around himself. He drew the chair close – but not too close – to the side of the bed. It was too small from him and made him hunch like an old man. I, on the other hand could not have looked much better, sitting stiffly there in the bed, clutching at the bed covers, holding them to my chest. I think he must have noticed my anxious (if not closed) body language as that frown he usually seemed to carry softened and he reached for the tray beside him.

"Phile, will you join me and have some wine?" He asked politely, pouring dark crimson liquid into the two goblets anyway, without me actually answering yes or no.

"I do not think I have much of a stomach for alcohol." I laughed nervously as I tucked the sheet under my arms, allowing my hands to emerge but leave the rest of me covered. I rubbed my hands quickly up and down on the sheet over my thighs, trying to deter my sweaty palms.

He watched me hands closely:

"Just one drop will not hurt; it may relax you a little."

I felt a hot blush on my cheeks that he had noticed this uneasiness so I immediately accepted the goblet he proffered. I took a couple of sips as those black eyes watched. The wine tasted sweet yet the alcohol burnt my nervous, dry lips and the back of my throat, so much so I had the urge to vomit. Hector sipped from his goblet too. As he leant back in the chair, he swallowed his third mouthful and tried to strike up conversation, breaking a rather long and uncomfortable silence.

"So Phile, tell me – how are you finding the palace?"

"It is an honour to be here." I answered submissively, assuming that was the sort of thing he would want to hear.

He raised his eyebrows almost playfully, a wryness turning the corners of his lips.

"That did not answer my question."

My heart sent out shooting signals of panic and I could barely breathe. I thought I had displeased him as I was not yet familiar to his particular manner of gentle teasing. Mortified, I craved to duck under the bed covers. Instead I managed to stay fairly composed and just sipped my wine, not daring look at the Prince. My mind went blank, I could not think of anything to say, not anything that might interest this man anyway.

He sighed gently as he observed my barely-veiled alarm: "My apologies. I did not mean that to sound so … abrasive."

He flashed an easy smile at me but I still could not loosen up. Charming men were not to be trusted; my mother had drummed into me.

"Come!" he laughed, trying to coax at least one sentence from me: "there is no reason why you should be so passive in my presence. What you think of my home?"

His anticipation of my answer practically hung around my neck like a noose. I watched as he casually removed the golden crown from his head and placed it on the bedside table next to the tray, making me wonder whether he meant to discard all formality with it. I drank my wine down a little faster until my goblet was only half-full.

"It is the most magnificent place I have ever seen. My mother told me all about the splendours but she did not do it justice. She came here with my father Erymas when he was decorated with a medal from the King, when I was little."

Hector slowly reached over and refilled my goblet before adding thoughtfully:

"You accompanied your parents that day."

It was a statement, rather than a question and I paused in trepidation, hoping he did not think me to be a liar. He spoke the truth about me coming with my parents that proud day although I did not recall it very much; I was only three years old at the time after all.

"You probably cannot remember as you were very young. However, I remember you." He revealed mysteriously with an intense expression on his face, one that was difficult to read. "So you see, you already know me a little. I hope you do not think of me as a stranger now. Surely your father must have talked of me?"

I paused. My father had loved Hector as if he were his own son and like my mother had said; his affection would never have been earned by brutish animal. Yet I was still torn - such a privileged man with a commanding presence _could_ be capable of such callousness I reminded myself. I had already witnessed Hector's ruthless skill with a blade the day before in the training arena. Then I again thought, was my father much different? I had even noted myself that Hector had fought very much like him - and father had nothing inside him apart from humanity.

I curiously studied Hector for a moment who, at that point in the evening, looked anything but fierce or callous. He actually looked like any other tired and resigned man - it had been a long day for him too, I realised. The symposium had seemed more like duty for him rather than a relaxing interlude; throughout the evening Hector had been practically besieged with a never-ending stream of sycophants wishing him well, although they all seemed to jostle for his attention and approval. He would exchange a few gracious words but like during the Hetaerae selection, he would nod politely and his mouth would smile vaguely but his eyes remained unfathomable. We hardly had a moment to become acquainted then, so I supposed we must make up for lost time now.

"My father Erymas loved you as if you were of his own blood." I began honestly but cautiously in answer to his question.

Hector dropped his eyes from me and stared blankly into his goblet, watching tiny beads bubble to the surface of the wine. Momentarily he seemed so downcast. It was only much later that I realised this was because he felt the same for my father; his grief and loss had almost been as acute as my own.

"What was Erymas like at home?" Hector asked suddenly, not drawing his gaze from his goblet. "… away from _here_ I mean" he demonstrated he meant the palace with a slight sweep on his large hand.

I felt somewhat comforted that we had a common bond. At least my father was _something_ to talk about.

"He was man of few words and kept to himself when it came to palace matters; he had an utmost honour for you and the King. As a father I suppose some would say he was unconventional and never scared to speak his mind but I loved him very much for it. He was kind and thoughtful."

"Erymas was like that as my mentor." He smiled, remembering. He cocked his head to the side and considered something before speaking again, looking at me as if I were some sort of curious object.

"He may not have talked much about palace matters when at home but he spoke of you often here, he was certainly a proud father. You know, I always found it strange that he did not allow you to accompany him to the palace other than that one time … then I realised it was probably to protect you from falling for the charms of one of the more randy scoundrels in our regiments!" he arched his eyebrow dryly and for a split-second I wondered if he was referring to someone in particular. "The barracks are no place for a young lady, certainly not for one as extraordinarily beautiful as you."

I blushed at his comment. Having not been raised to hold vanity as a defining trait, I could not understand how he had come to this observation of me yet I took his compliments with great humility.

"Are you frightened of me Phile?" He asked suddenly.

I drained my goblet and thought for a moment. I did not want to offend him yet I had to be honest. I could have lied as well as a snake-tongue demon and even then my body language would have given me away. There would be no hiding from him, I could tell already that he was very clever – and about twice the size of me. As Hector sat close to me I was all too aware he was a physically imposing man. His bare arms were so thick with muscles, they were about as big as my legs and his hands so massive to me they were like shovels. Without a bat of his eyelid he could still order my death or abuse me as he saw fit.

"I am afraid to say yes my lord." I finally admitted, hanging my head.

"Well there is no need to be. Sometimes people who do not know me assume that I am a beast of a man but I can assure you that is not the case. It is a creation of others that I do not condone and merely propaganda for the battlefield." He said immediately, his eyes earnest. He looked to the left slightly as he took another sip from his goblet.

He answered so certainly it had sounded almost severe. I clenched my fist so hard, the nails bit into the flesh and I probably drew blood. Those cool dark eyes warmed, he sighed to himself and leant forward a little, resting his goblet back on the tray slowly and methodically.

"Have they not told you why I am here in your chamber tonight?" he softly enquired, toying with the goblet stem.

I felt my cheeks redden again and I wondered how much it was physically possible to blush in one evening: "You are to lay with me tonight, my lord." I mumbled, feeling so stupid and naïve.

"Is that all? Did the Governess not explain?"

I shook my head in the negative, my heart practically in my throat and tried to rid my mind of those shameful friezes painted on the wall of the temple. I could not bring myself to speak to him about them. Is that what he expected of me? Was the Governess supposed to explain?

"That damned fat heifer of a woman!" He cursed to himself.

His discourtesy towards her was surprising yet not altogether undeserved. I had noticed that she regarded him rudely behind his back and grudgingly to his face the day I was chosen. There was clearly no love lost between the pair of them.

"Yes Phile. You are to lay with me tonight but it is so much more than that. I do not mean to seem coarse … my apologies if that are how I sound; it is the furthest from my intentions. Tonight we will touch and kiss; my body will enter yours. I will have the honour of taking your virginity and you will bring forth my seed. We must do this tonight to validate the joining ceremony. I understand if you reject me, all this must sound so frightening to you. I am just sorry nobody has explained all this to you before, you should have been prepared."

His frankness – and concern - astonished me. My fingers twisted tightly around my goblet; I was confused as I mulled things over.

"I can tell that I … _this_ is not something you wish for." He stammered quietly. "Perhaps we should give you some time to adjust."

I looked up to him, my eyes wide in desperation. I tried to keep my voice steady but it waivered as words tumbled from my mouth, displaying my alarm: "But what will happen if I do not allow you to do any of those things tonight. Will I be punished?"

I knew that if I refused he could have his way with me anyway. The dreadful experiences with my stepfather had taught me that men felt they had the right to take anything they thought was owed to them.

"No Phile." He smiled softly in an attempt to reassure me yet the frown was firmly back in place.

"But surely if I do not do as I am required it is blasphemous! We will not be joined in the eyes of the gods … and the law."

Hector quickly ran his fingers through his dark curls as he thought about what I had just said. This certainly was not the most comfortable of situations for either of us.

"Yes. I will not pretend to you. This is all true. But you must be ready. Do not fear, I will not force myself upon you; I abhor the idea of it. As your Kyrios I am required to take your virginity tonight - but as a gentleman I will not force you. If you refuse me, I will honour that. Nobody will have knowledge of it, I will make sure."

I could not comprehend why Hector would break the laws of his beloved country and risk upsetting the gods just for me. Yet as the great Prince Hector of Troy, the gods favoured him and they would probably not punish him. As for me, I would undoubtedly fall foul of their wrath and somehow I feared that more than the man sitting before me.

I closed my eyes, trying to summons the courage to say what I was about to, even though it went against every instinct I felt at that moment:

"I do not wish to displease the gods and be cursed for the rest of my life. I am yours and I am here for you to take your pleasure from me, that much I have been told. Therefore I ask you to do just that." I found myself saying, my voice now steady.

Now Hector was the one looking uncertain. He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. Looking back, I suppose it was not exactly the most romantic or alluring of propositions.

"You are sure?"

I nodded, hoping my heart trying to pound itself through my chest would not betray me.

"You certainly are strong of will …" he said drawing his chair closer to the bed. He reached out with his large hand and stroked my cheek with surprising tenderness. It made me shiver – but definitely not with repulsion like I expected. "… and I find myself liking this trait."

I almost gasped as he ran his thumb gently over my bottom lip, making it tingle. It did not feel unnatural, it was almost pleasurable.

My eyes were still closed at this point but I could tell he was close, I could sense the heat from his body, the scent of lemons on his skin and the charcoal smoke in his hair "There is something quite fascinating about you." He whispered against my ear.

I then felt the sensation of his lips brushing against mine. He tasted of wine and something else – something that I came to know as his unique flavour. Contrary to what you may think, instead of fanning the flames on my fear, the kiss actually quelled them. It has never ceased to amaze me to this day that the simple act touching of lips can send such wonderful sensations from head to toe. Despite the uncertainty I felt, I could also feel myself warming to him somehow. Perhaps it was wishful thinking but I felt connected to him in other ways than just the lips.

"So am I allowed to join you in the bed now, Phile?" He asked politely, no doubt mindful of how late in the evening it now was. It suddenly struck me how he had worded this statement. It was if our roles had been reversed somehow.

I opened my eyes slowly and nodded again, silently gulping down air. This was it. It was going to happen, a different kind of joining ceremony. The raging bull in my stomach came stomping back with avengance.

"Yes my lord. Of course"

"Please - do not call me lord or prince … just call me Hector…."

He got up from the chair and slowly stalked around the room, extinguishing every lamp in the room until darkness shrouded us. I was slightly confused by this and I lay there listening to my own heavy breaths, wondering whether the shade was necessary as he did not find me attractive. I felt the sheet being pulled back to the right, a quick flash of cool air against my bare skin and then the mattress depress as he slowly slid under the covers next to me. He lay there almost as inert as I was for a moment before carefully manoeuvring himself so the upper part of his body was over mine, his weight supported by his forearm braced to the left of my head. I felt his lips brush mine again and again, his body pressing against me the more he lost himself in the sensations. I felt fabric press against my exposed breasts; he was still clothed in his robe. I was trying to kiss him back the best I could, getting used to it and trying to focus on that alone. It was a strange sort of inbetweeness; my body was beginning to enjoy his attentions but my mind was fighting against what it saw as an invasion. My hand grasped at the material covering his chest, inadvertently making him keep his distance. He was not dissuaded and I almost jumped out of my skin as I felt his hand caressing my thigh. His fingers soon stopped it wanderings there are found their way to my breast. I tensed and let a little shriek out into his mouth.

"Shhhh…" he whispered into my ear, his breath hot against it as he removed the offending hand and began to stroke my hair trying to soothe me. It did not work, my body was still stiff and unresponsive to his touch and I craved to be anywhere but there. I wished he would just get it over and done with, I could see no other way out.

"Please." I implored through clenched teeth, trying to hold back tears. "Just do it."

His hand paused and I heard him breathe another heavy sigh.

"Are you certain?" he asked again, lifting his weight off me.

"Yes." I whispered desperately, almost a little too quickly.

I felt him reach over me to the bedside table, his fingers scrabbling around until they found their intended target. He lifted something – a bottle. I heard him take the balled top off and then the slight musical dripping noise as he dispensed something from it. He was collecting massage oil in his palm.

"Trust me."

I wondered if this was an order, request or a gentle entreat as his hand reached between my legs, spreading the oil on my most intimate of places.

My thighs tensed at this assault and almost trapped his hand there as I bit my lip, fighting the urge to cry out. I frantically reminded myself that I was there to let him take his pleasure from me and he could do with me as he wished – my body belonged to him. I hoped it would be over quickly so I lay there as still as I could, letting him have his way. I could barely breathe as I felt him arrange himself on top of me, all ungainly; his legs between mine so I was vulnerable and could no longer close them. I did not appreciate the dominance. His robe rustled as he hitched it up to his waist and suddenly, there was part of him, hot and hard, against my belly. I felt his lips against mine again but this time I could not reciprocate his kisses. He soon gave up with trying to make this cold, dead thing underneath him feel any passion. He sighed heavily yet again just before I felt him press insistently between my legs. I would not yield. He pressed harder and I felt a stretching there, a burning. This time I could not help to cry out – and it was one of pain. He halted and I could feel him literally throb inside me for a moment before he withdrew a little and drove slowly further into me. The whole of my crotch was of fire, it felt like he had placed a dagger inside of me. I did not yelp again, dutifully never once telling him to stop yet the tears started to come. I could not stop them.

Hector removed himself from me immediately when he sensed those tears, a reaction so quick it was like the way a hand will jolt back from the danger of a naked flame. He sat at the end of the bed, far away from me, bathed in a shaft of moonlight as he listened to my quiet sobs.

"I cannot do this …" he muttered, his head despairingly in his hands.

As he stood and hurriedly re-arranged his robe into something a bit more proper, I felt like such a complete failure and now utterly convinced he found me totally unattractive.

But then I could feel a wet sensation between my legs.

I reached down to touch the patch and immediately I knew it wasn't urine as it had the same metallic scent as my monthly curse. Whatever he had done had made me bleed.

When I looked to him again, I realised Hector was looking straight at me, a sort of pity or wretchedness on his face.

"I am sorry" he murmured as he swiftly took his leave.

As morning broke, I rolled over onto the cold side of my bed, still being able to smell Hector on my skin. His apology was baffling to me. I was sure that the Governess would burst in and order me to leave the palace for such a shoddy effort to please my Kyrios the night before.

But nobody came to escort me to the gates.


	11. Chapter 11

I lay in bed for a long while, time to me was inconsequential. I drifted in and out of sleep like the waves of the sea lap against the shore - unaware neither caring of their own being. Somehow I felt safe there in self-imposed shadow with the covers wrapped tightly around me and the drapes drawn against the world. I could hide here, I could forget. A chink of bright sunlight had somehow managed to leak through a tiny gap in the fabric fortress covering the window. It made an angular beam that stretched down to a small golden stripe on the floor. I watched the dust motes caught in the ethereal shaft glitter dance through the air. I remembered that when I was a little girl, I used to imagine these particles were tiny magical beings. Now as a woman, I knew that one had to let go of such fancies and ideals – but, as I lay there, I somehow craved that innocence back. Reality seemed so bleak. I rolled away from the light with a self-pitying sigh and buried my head under warm blanket, wishing I could just disappear or at least wake up some place else.

I fell back to sleep and dreamt vividly. It began with nothingness, the pitch blackness of my own despair. I could not see a thing and I was frightened. But then a voice called out to me, repeating my name from a distance at first then almost immediately closer, as if this person had approached at speed from across a wide space and then was stood right next to me. I immediately recognized the voice as that belonging to my much-missed father and I became frustrated because I could not see him, find where he was to touch him. My hands reached out and blindly searched for him before I stumbled to my knees, sobbing in anguish. "Do not cry my daughter, you must be strong. He needs you." My father told me gently. Strangely, I knew who my father spoke of at once. "Need me? He does not even want me!" I cried resolute in my distress. "He will." came the simple reply. Then light filled the black void, as if I stood in a dark corridor and a door to a secret room had been pushed open before me. As my eyes became accustomed to the brightness, I was not looking upon my father, but myself. It was not my reflection as I knelt there; it was another me, as if I were watching an actress in a play, there before me in the room. The other me was crouched at Hector's feet. He was sat in a chair watching her with so much grief in his eyes it pains me to remember it now, even if it was just a dream. She appeared to be sewing. She was sewing one of Hector's legs back on. This is not as grisly as initially sounds: Hector looked real; his leg looked real; but the joins by his thigh and his hip were like fabric, as if she were mending a rag doll. As soon as she had finished sewing the leg back on, his arm promptly fell off so she calmly and diligently began on fixing that limb. When that was patched up, the other leg came away. However, she never seemed to get tired or discouraged of attending to him. "Comfort him and make him smile, it will ease his pain." My father called out, addressing the other me. She immediately rose so her face was level with Hector's and reached out, caressing his face with her fingertips, whispering something in his ear. All at once his grief seemed to vanish, those black eyes shining back at her with such warmth. My counterpart tilted Hector's face up by his chin so her lips met his and she proceeded to kiss him with such intimate affection and _utter love_ I was taken aback.

I gasped but at the same time it was because I could feel a gentle shake on my shoulder which was rousing me awake. This time a voice I did not recognize pierced my unconsciousness.

"Now Miss Phile!" said a motherly female voice: "It is late in the afternoon and you haven't risen from your bed or let a morsel of food pass your lips – we cannot let you make yourself ill."

She didn't sound as raspy and curt as the Governess, nor did she talk like my handmaiden – mainly, of course, because that girl barely said anything at all. I managed to open my eyes, the heavy lids feeling like sacks of grain, to look upon this this stranger who was addressing me in such a bold manner. This immediate mystery made me forget completely about my strange dream for the moment.

The woman was standing next to the bed, looking at me in slight exasperation, one hand on her hip and the other holding a platter of melon and cured meat meant for my breakfast, or rather, waking meal. Experience was slightly lined on this woman's face but, it did not subtract from her prettiness, more added to it. I had already guessed she was at least ten years older than I but there was something open about her face, perhaps it was her wide eyes that gave her a look of childlike wonderment.

"Who are you?" I managed to mumble, still not completely lucid. I supposed that by referring to me as 'Miss', she was of lower rank than me anyway. Besides, that gown she wore was too loose and gave her body much freedom; it has obviously been designed for work instead of mere beauty. I already knew that beauty meant suffering as I remembered how tightly my hair was always styled and my restrictive and heavy Hetaerae collar.

"I am Korina." She answered almost proudly, for some reason not adding any more explanation for her sudden appearance as if she had been a constant fixture or I should have known who she was. Not that I knew every face within the palace walls. I doubted that even the king did.

Korina placed the platter on the bedside table in place of where the pitcher, cups, Hector's garland and crown had been – all gone now. I had not even been aware that someone had cleared them away and returned the precious golden laurels to the Prince. I had half-hoped for him to come back for it himself but of course that was folly, why would a Prince do something that bothersome when he had servants to do it for him? 'Bothersome'. The word seemed to ricochet painfully around my head as I knew that was all I meant to the Prince. I could not rid him from the very forefront of my mind, the absolute look of wretchedness that had crumpled his face as he sat there at the end of my bed. It had haunted my waking hours.

Yet again, I was rudely interrupted from desolate meanderings by Korina.

"Frowning like that does not become you!" she bristled. "Time to stop laying there feeling sorry for yourself, you may have been able to act like a spoilt brat at home, but that is not acceptable in the palace I am afraid!"

Before I could complain about her total impertinence, Korina proceeded to hold the plate right under my nose so I would get a tempting waft of its delicious wares. I was not one to eat first thing but the smell was making my belly grumble, reminding me that although it had spent a brief sojourn being twisted into an unworkable knot of anxiety, it needed fuel NOW. However, no primal urge could overcome my innate stubbornness, especially as it was directed at this stranger, who had burst into my private quarters and offended me without actually knowing anything about me – or what had occurred the other night. The brazen cheek of it! Yet there was something about her informal manner and her animated face that had already made me involuntarily warm to her to her character. She seemed dependable and above anything else – honest. Honest to a fault!

She chuckled at my grumpy scowl as if I were a petulant child. "Come now, you've been in bed for so long you have missed most of a beautiful day - what a waste! You will be expected in the banquet hall for dinner tonight so make sure you do not stuff all that is on the plate into your mouth, lest you ruin your appetite."

She plonked herself in the dressing table chair that was still by the side of my bed from Hector's visit as if to say 'I am not going to leave you in peace'. I sat up slowly, hindered a little by my heavy bedcovers and blinked away sleep as my mind speculated whether she was supposed to be a new handmaiden and therefore not permitted to be so informal in my company without actual invitation to do so. Before I could come to a satisfactory conclusion without lowering myself to ask, Korina had wasted no time in depositing the plate in my newly-formed lap.

"Eat!" she implored.

I figured I would not be able hear anything else from her unless I complied - and not willing to be bored as well as confused, I starting picking a few stray seeds out of a chunk of melon before wrapping a thin sheet of ham around it. I popped it into my mouth and chewed gingerly but it tasted good. Of course it did. Obviously only the very best food was reserved for the palace. It occurred to me that I was not sure how they ate such a meal here, but if my method was uncouth, Korina did not seem to mind or at least, she never mentioned anything.

As I swallowed my mouthful, appeasing the gurgling gremlin in my guts, the suspense overcame me and I couldn't help but ask: "What happened to the other girl, the one that the Governess assigned to me?"

Korina smiled knowingly. A little too knowingly for my liking: "I was deemed more suitable for you by a greater authority, shall we say. I can only stay a few weeks however."

As I was having gleeful doubts whether she would actually last that long in my service, she added as an afterthought: "I have a husband and children at home you see – and one on the way."

She smoothed her dainty hands over her stomach, pulling her simple gown taut around it, proudly displaying her bump. I was shocked and intrigued all at the same time; I had not really had any experience with pregnancy or childbirth - obviously not personally but not even through family acquaintances or my own mother who had borne no other child but me. It seemed strange, fantastical almost, that another person would grow within the belly of another. In fact, it seemed fantastical on the point of monstrosity. The swollen belly before me looked painful – yet Korina did not look like a freakish oddity – she positively glowed with health and happiness as she sat there. Needless to say gestation was as mysterious to me as conception at that point.

"We're hoping this one is a girl, I already have three boys." Korina beamed, still stroking her belly soothingly as if it were the babe's little head. "So, I can only stay for a few weeks, but it should be long enough to help you find your feet."

Korina began chatting idly about the palace, a place she obviously knew well. She gossiped about people I had never met and places I had never seen. I had never felt so dizzy whilst confined to the comfort of my own bed. An hour after she had started her tales and just about the time when I was consid_e_ring whether she might notice if I ducked under the covers and put my fingers in my ears, she paused realizing I was starting to look a little overwhelmed. Overwhelmed would have been an understatement. As she talked of the places I could roam, the things I would see and the people I may pass, fear had swept through me like a gust of wind. The thought of leaving my room made me anxious to the point of sickness. I was sure to be scrutinized and judged, I considered despondently, not to mention that I already felt that I did not quite fit the mould of what was expected of me. I knew nothing about this place or this regal world - like a fish finding itself out of the river knows nothing about breathing air. Noticing my apprehension, Korina reached forward and placed her hand gently on my wrist, meant as a gesture of comfort.

"Let's get you out of this bed, you need a wash and I need to change your sheets." She simply offered, changing the subject.

A bathe or even a wash over with a cloth was a welcome and refreshing prospect after my meal. Then I noted what she said about the sheets and I froze, painfully embarrassed of the state of them. I would have rather had laid in my shame than have anybody discover it. My cheeks must have flushed in alarm – or the fact that I suddenly seemed rooted that that bed because Korina seemed to immediately understand. He features softened as she reached forward and gently grasped my wrist again.

"Is this about the blood?" she asked carefully.

I simply nodded, trying not to cry and relived I did not have to speak those words myself.

Korina sighed to herself softly:

"Don't be upset Phile. It happens to some women the first time. It is a very symbolic although it does not feel like it now. It marks your journey from girlhood to womanhood."

But I did not feel like a woman. I felt dirty. Korina must have read this frustration in my face as she countered:

"Do not fret. You are not expected to know all this. It's true that the Governess should have explained one or two things to you … but that is one of the reasons why I am here".

Her smile was kind as she smoothed some hair soothingly from my face. It was somehow all very maternal and I felt instantly at ease; my initial trepidation and embarrassment quelled. I somehow knew already that I had found a good friend – and just when I least expected to.


	12. Chapter 12

_Authors Note - Hi all! Sorry, it's been a while. You know how it is, life just gets on top of you sometimes. I did not forget about Phile and Hector however, far from it! So here you have it, Chapter 12. I can't promise Chapter 13 (unlucky for some!) won't take as long but I am hoping not! Anyway, as always, hope you enjoy (and don't be shy, hope you review!) x_

-O-

Dinner was certainly an assault to the senses: the Great Hall was packed with all manner of people and although the King himself was present, it was the opposite of the decorous event I had expected.

There were drums and singing battling against many rowdy, loud voices and raucous laughter; the festive cacophony seemed to rise towards the ceiling faster than the charcoal smoke from the fire pit at the back of the room. The largest boar I had ever seen was being slowly turned on a spit over the flames there, it was so huge in fact that it's blackening tusks were almost as long as my forearms. Three or four shaggy hounds sat patiently and eagerly nearby, at a surprisingly calculated distance, especially to avoid any physical reproach for being a nuisance from the servant who worked the wheel of the spit. That poor man was already being harassed enough by the guests, impatient for some delicious pork and indeed, the roasting beast did look and smell magnificent. The hounds were clearly hoping to be thrown a juicy bone when the meat was finally served, or at least to snatch up anything that may be dropped to the floor. The impatient revellers were not so reserved – or as clever – as the hounds. The infuriated servant despondently had to resort to warning jabs of the hot fire poker to deter their stealing hands. Woe betided him if anyone but the King had first taste.

Meanwhile, steaming platters of freshly-roasted whole birds, baked bread and spiced fruits were brought to the tables in endless streams. Many greedy mouths, moistened with plentifully flowing wine and beer, made short work of anything that was brought forth, even the sweetbreads (seen as a delicacy, although they had always turned my stomach; I was never one in favour of consuming offal).

If it seems to you that I was very suddenly remarkably relaxed in a room full of strangers in my extraordinary new home, then you are perceptive.

The only way I could explain the change in me was that I could slowly feel my tenacity return much like a twig, after being forced to endure the harshest of winters, would finally begin to produce budded leaves in the first thaw of spring.

Before I had left my quarters that night, all trussed up in the red robe and collar, Korina had given me a large goblet of strong wine that she simply insisted I gulp down rather than sup. I did not question her logic then - or when she told me in no uncertain terms that I was Hetaerae to the Prince now, and a beautiful, bright young thing at that. She said I must conduct myself in a manner that was befitting not just to Hector but I must also be true to myself.

Something about her encouraging advice added fuel to a flame just barely smouldering in my belly. As Korina had diligently washed away my blood and tears before sliding the draping crimson robes over my bare shoulders, she essentially transformed me from frightened little girl into a striking young lady. Even though I had worn those robes before, that was the first time I felt empowered, even desirable. I _was_ truly a woman, my precious virginity claimed by Hector, the handsome Crown Prince of Troy. Although technically, that moment had been brief, I belonged to him – and I was not resigned to this, more electrified by it. I ran my hands down my body, smoothing the robe from the sides of my full breasts to the deep curve of my waist, out to my wide hips and then to my rounded bottom, wondering how those dark eyes truly viewed me. Perhaps the wine was taking effect as a prickly stirring; a strange kind of thrill seemed to climb from my loins and up my spine as I thought of Hector. I actually felt some excited anticipation about seeing him at the banquet. I hoped he would notice me. Perhaps if I showed some confidence, he may not feel so terrible about me, or what had happened that night in my chamber I reasoned. Hector _had_ mentioned that he liked my strong will. I could recall the delicious seduction in his voice as he told me that, how I had shivered when he touched my face before he leant over to kiss me. The taste of him was still vivid, the memory of the way he captured my quivering bottom lip masterfully in between his own made me instinctively touch my mouth there with my fingers, trying –and failing – to recreate the sensation. I considered that perhaps I may never be kissed by him again, a notion that made me rather glum.

I had started to feel rather ashamed that since our acquaintance, I had been nothing but the quintessential damsel in distress – fainting, crying, trembling, weak, nervous and forlorn. Father would have been disappointed. My dogged determination decided that if Hector ever gave me the opportunity, he would finally see some self-assurance from me, if only for my own dignity.

Oh yes, my stubborn nature grasped at these ideas with both hands. With new clarity, as I walked alone to the Great Hall, any steps I took were naturally without a timid gait. Indeed, it was a physical challenge to do anything but to hold my head up high, keep my back straight and slink in the crimson robe and collar uniform.

It was not difficult to find my place at the right table in the Hall despite the rabble previously described. The other Hetaerae stood out a mile, an island of crimson in a tumultuous sea of joyful excess. I quietly slid into my waiting seat at the table going largely unnoticed, or so I had assumed.

The other Hetaerae were engrossed in some sort of gaggle of excited conversation. They appeared to lean away from me in varying degrees towards the other end of the table, around one woman in particular, like a group of cheeping chicks gathering around a clucking mother hen. The woman looked at least twenty years older than me judging by her cold, hooded eyes and brittle looking skin. If I were to be unkind (and unsisterly) I suppose I would have called her a 'faded beauty', although something about her haughty and self-assured countenance told me I should definitely not say this to her face anytime soon.

I tore a hunk of bread from the still-warm loaf in front of me and bought it to my empty plate, gingerly picking at it as I looked around myself in awe. Unlike the symposium on my joining night, the Hall was filled with more formal benches and chairs, although they were dotted around in a shambles. It looked to me as if they had begun the night in structured manner with avenues to allow for easy access, although now some tables had been evidently pushed together to accommodate larger groups and benches and chairs had been shuffled; many guests did not sit, they simply milled about from table to table, forcing the poor servants in attendance to appear more like acrobatic performers as they were dutifully obliged to dodge obstacles whilst balancing platter and jugs. The often and emphatic clunk of cups on wood began as the music paused.

The head hen then stopped her secretive blathering and narrowed her eyes at me, finally noting my presence:

"Ah ... Phenie is it?" she enquired haughtily across the table. The others turned to stare at me.

"Phi-LE." I corrected, over pronouncing the last syllable so there could be no continued confusion. She knew full well she had incorrectly spoken my name, I could tell by the smirk on her face that the mistake was a deliberate tool of subtle belittlement.

Korina, seemingly an expert on all the hidden nuances of all palace dynamics, had previously warned me to pay no heed to any nasty comments that would be fired in my direction. "And there will be," she had assured me "as the Hetaerae are known to be a formidable pack of vixens when brought together, quarrelling over incidentals and such. Do not be trapped by their tricks; do not be dragged down to their lowly level. _You_ are better than that!"

Taking her advice, I smiled coolly and beatifically back at the woman and looked away from the group, determined not to lose my composure. I would not give them the twisted pleasure. My eyes were naturally drawn to the raised platform at the front of the Hall – or dais as I later learnt it was called (a way of denoting the royal family's divinity compared to the throng of commoners below, no doubt). The King, seated on that grand throne, supped leisurely from a jewelled goblet, the rings on the fingers wrapped around the stem glinting in the candle light. As he drew the fancy cup away from his face, he wiped away wine that had soaked into his silvery whiskers. How could Sophus claim that Hector was the bastard son of a barbarian? He resembled his father remarkably, despite the advanced age of the King. I could see it in his nose, they had the same strange ears and as I watched the King's mouth move when he spoke a few words to someone next to him, I could see the similarity even in their expressions. It was then I realised that the King was actually talking to his eldest son. My stomach did a little tense flip as I focussed on him. Unlike the symposia I had accompanied him to, this time he appeared much more relaxed and ebullient. He reclined comfortably in his chair-throne and listened intently to his father as he used a small, sharp knife to skilfully slice a large red apple, methodically transferring each moist sliver from fruit to mouth with the flat of the blade. He did this with great dexterity, never taking his attentions away from the King. I could not help but to stare at the scene curiously, because it seemed so distinctly _ordinary_.

They were interrupted when the tiniest man I had ever seen, dressed in a patchwork of bright cloth, ran from the sidings to the very front of the dais, bowing deeply with a grin before pulling out an equally tiny lyre from his robe. To the delight of all, he began to play a merry jig on his ridiculous instrument, his stumpy legs kicking out here and there in some comical attempt at a dance. He warbled some words, turning the tale of the Battle of Frogs and Mice into an amusing song.

Hector was clearly entertained by this, especially at the part where Zeus ponders on what can be done to save the frogs before tossing down one of his great thunderbolts. Hector threw back his head and laughed with unselfconscious abandon into the air, his whole body shaking in mirth. When he had composed himself, he lazily wrapped his arm around the back of the chair to his left. Seated next to him there was his wife, Princess Andromache. Like me, she seemed charmed by her husband's seemingly uncharacteristic lack of restraint. With her face turned to him - those fine cheekbones, a high brow and gentle, wise eyes – he leant over and quickly rewarded her with an affectionate (and not at all chaste) peck on the cheek. The sudden pang of jealously that I felt at seeing that surprised and disgusted me all at the same time. I ignored it, locked it away deep within. I was Hector's - yet _he_ _was not_ mine. I was well aware of that fact from the day he had chosen me. So why did that kiss bother me so much?

Then, as if he could somehow sense my eyes on him, Hector looked directly at me. He appraised me quietly and quickly. He seemed gratified in what he saw as his mouth pulled into that same private and tiny smile he flashed to me after I had fainted. He lifted his goblet to me slightly with a nod in my direction to greet me. Although this moment only took place over a few seconds, I felt my insides liquefy and fall away most pleasantly indeed. I returned his smile, flustered by those unsettling eyes and looked away bashfully, feeling a blush break to the surface of my cheeks.

"So ... Phil-LE. The Prince could not defy custom any longer! Here you are, even though he did not want you." Mother hen suddenly crowed, apparently at me, with vitriol from her spot across the table.

This nasty comment had the desired affect it seemed as it turned my dreamy smile into a confused frown as my insides hardened. Mother hen smirked again as she turned back to her conversation to the adoring chick sat to her left.

"Ignore her."

One of the chicks next to me had leant over and whispered conspiratorially as soon as Mother Hen's attentions were turned elsewhere. I looked to the girl's face, searching for an explanation, wary that I should not trust anyone currently sat on my table. This girl was young, three or so years more than me, certainly. She was still just a child really. She had a round face and jet black hair that tumbled from her clipped bun in unruly tight curls. Her eyes were small yet bright and her mouth was smiling and relaxed, certainly not gathered in guardedly like the others.

"She is just jealous ..." the girl continued with a nonchalant shrug: "you are younger, more beautiful ... And _her_ Kyrios _never_ acknowledges her in public."

Oh. I had been so engrossed in watching the goings-on at the front of the hall; I had not even considered others may have seen Hector's gesture towards me. I deduced then that it was not the usual protocol.

"Who is her Kyrios?" I wondered out loud, although the girl was more than willing to answer for me.

"Her name is Acantha. She is one of the King's Hetaerae."

Ah. That explained the mother hen act, the haughty countenance. Because she belonged to the King, she thought the rest of us were beneath her! Wait! She was 'one' of the King's Hetaerae? Where were his others? I put this query to the girl and she answered, matter-of-factly:

"She is the only one left, apparently."

I visibility reeled at this information. The worst possible scenarios of Hetaerae 'disappearing' as they King grew bored flashed through my mind. The horror must have played out very well on my face as the girl giggled, immediately realising the terrible things I was imagining.

"No, nothing that harsh!" she smiled reassuringly: "From what I have been told, he had four. One died years ago, complications as she birthed one of his bastards. Another went quite mad and had to be locked away from the world for her own safety and the safety of others. The other died of natural causes – the king took his Hetaerae many, many years ago remember and sadly, time has the same effect on us all. So you see, Acantha is the only one now".

I tried to imagine growing old with Hector but for some reason, I could not picture it in my mind's eye, no matter how hard I tried.

The girl, clearly assuming she had found a new ally since we had broken the proverbial bread over some scurrilous gossip, then wasted no time in introducing herself to me. Her name was Thais, only just turned sixteen that past summer and was the Hetaerae of Hector's brother Polites. She was pleased at my arrival she said, as she had been the newest addition to the brood of hens before me. Apparently to bully and ostracise any newcomers was almost a rite of passage. She assured me she would not join them in any heckling they may direct at me, mainly as the humiliation she had suffered at their hands was all too fresh in her mind. She did not want me to endure the inevitable alone.

I was unsure whether to believe Thais, no matter how earnestly she seemed to offer me friendship. Trust had to be earned, my father always used to say. I glanced at the tapestry that resembled my father on the wall. Somehow having that image benevolently looking down on me made me feel more secure. I weighed up my options on the matter as methodically as my father would have and admittedly, there were more pros than cons. I did not want to sit and eat my evening meal in silence, self-consciously feeling the watchful gazes of Acantha and her cronies boring a hole into me. Besides, perhaps this Thais may be a useful source of information. Knowledge can be a powerful thing (again, a little saying of my father's).

However, Thais seemed happy to talk _at_ me. I let her run her mouth off; she was young, quite enthusiastic and it meant I did not have to put much effort into any conversation, if you could call it that.

"How are you getting along with the Prince? ... Actually, it's too early to answer that, isn't it? It took a while for Polites to even speak to me ... he was more interested in my body than my brain ... how I hated our first night together! ... Mind you, that was over in a blink of an eye ... Polites did not have much staying power, if you know what I mean ... Which can be seen as a good thing I suppose ... Things are much better now ... They do get better ... Mind you the Prince seems to be fond of you already ... you may be one of those lucky pairings that do not need to learn to like each other..." she gabbled on.

Her last statement obviously struck a chord with me and I could not help but ask the one question that I had wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for the last half-an-hour. I had to muster up all my strength not to pin her to the table to force an answer out of her in fact:

"If that is the case, why did Acantha claim that Hector did not want me?"

"Oh, it's a stupid theory really ..." Thais shrugged nonchalantly then paused, wondering how much she should tell me. As she saw my eyes widen and my lips thin in darkening anticipation she did finally continue:

"Well ... A married man usually takes his Hetaerae during the first year of marriage, yes? Well, Hector has been married almost four years. No-one is really sure why it has taken him this long, although everyone - including Acantha - has their own theories ..."

"Such as?" I encouraged

"There have been some real laughable ones ... that Hector's true desires lay with his fellow men and that his wife is just a smokescreen to mask his homosexuality. Another is that Hector does not feel any desire at all because he was castrated in a battle ..."

"That is just ridiculous!" I snorted, not knowing whether to be amused or disgusted at such unfounded slander.

For a start, even just to watch Hector and Andromache together, it was obvious that his sexual appetite was firmly on the side of women. As for being castrated, I knew that first hand not to be true. I may not have seen the thing the other night but it was most certainly there.

"I know!" agreed Thais emphatically. "Acantha's theory is a little less implausible I suppose but still sounds a little far-fetched to me. She thinks Hector has only taken Hetaerae now after great pressure from his father, priests and council. She heard the Prince and King argue once about it, she says. He had resisted because he loves the Princess so much, he has the rather modern belief he should stay totally faithful to her. The thing is, his heir is yet to be born. A little arrival was expected after their first year of marriage – and now they have been married almost four. People are even saying that the Princess is barren. Acantha thinks you have been brought in to give Hector a child of royal blood. She thinks it would be taken from you soon after birth and given to the princess where she would pass the child off as her own."

Strangely I laughed. I am not sure why. At first it sounded ridiculous but the more I imagined the scenario, the more I could see that it was not _that_ implausible, as Thais had said.

I reached for my goblet of wine sitting in front of me, previously untouched. I did not realise my hand was shaking so much. I grabbed the goblet so hard my knuckles drained of colour and quickly put it to my lips, drinking down the deep, rich liquid quickly.

Thais eyed my body language, not having any difficulty in seeing how disturbed I was by this notion.

"Do not worry." She whispered reassuringly: "As I said, they are just stupid theories. Besides, any child of Hector's you would bear would most certainly you resemble you too - and you obviously look nothing like the Princess!"

I gazed at the dais again. Princess Andromache seemed to me to be the epitome of poise and modesty. She daintily ate grapes from her plate, naturally impervious to the carousing around her. Hector's large hand reached across the table covering her long, thin fingers that where resting on the tabletop there. She wrapped them lovingly around his, a silent signal to assure him that all was well with her, a perfect gesture of the deep intimacy they clearly shared.

Yes, Thais was right – I was nothing like the Princess.

On my way back to my apartment that night, my belly was pleasingly full although my mind and legs were restless. I must have taken a wrong turn as I found myself in a strange room. It was circular in shape and large, almost cavernous. I quickly and correctly guessed that I must be in one of the four corner towers of the palace. Moonlight streamed in from the small, arched windows and tall lamps, which ringed the inside the walls and burnt brightly - so brightly in fact that it was difficult to tell how late into the night it really was. I listened to my own footsteps echo in the silence as I made my way into the centre of the room, where there sat a large, circular padded seat. I took no rest on this however when I realised the room was so bright because the light was actually reflecting from objects laid carefully out on plinths and stands around the edges of the room. My eyes widened as I took some of these grand-looking items in and understood they were relics of Troy's great military past: empty suits of armour standing proud, many huge bronze swords, giant shields and such other decorations. As I moved closer to the ones directly in front of me to gain a better look, I realised a few of the breastplates were pierced and that one or two the helmets were dented. Even some of the swords were broken. It was clear to me immediately that some of the owners of these particular pieces probably did not survive the injuries their armour suggested. Nevertheless, somebody had taken great care in cleaning, polishing and presenting them, probably as a memorial to the fallen.

I moved around the room, studying each piece. One suit of armour struck me as very strange indeed and I paused to take it in fully. It was rather ornate, the breast plate depicting a naturalistic relief of two rearing horses. It brought to mind the imagery on Priam's throne and Hector's own breastplate. This suit must have belonged to a royal, I deduced but I could not figure out how exactly, mainly as the suit was smaller than the others, however it was too big to fit a child and not slender enough to encase a woman's figure. My puzzled frown as I considered it was broken by a sudden, deep voice coming from behind me.

"It was mine, when I was a boy." It said, startling me so much I span round reflexively to discover the source. I assumed I was alone. I _had_ been alone.

Hector was sat on the circular seat behind me, watching, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he leant forward, his forearms rested on his thighs. His fingers came together in the space between his legs, the fingers and thumbs absently toying with each other.

My innards felt like they had jumped up and were resting in my throat. How did I not even hear the sound of his footsteps? Surely they should have been louder than my own? My first impulse was that I should politely bow and retreat out of the room but as Hector's dark eyes regarded me almost expectantly, I took a deep breath to slow my racing heart and as casually as I could, approached the chair before perching myself carefully next to him.

Not wanting there to be an uncomfortable silence and still staunch in my resolution to display some confidence, I asked him at what age that suit of armour was smithied for him.

"It was my twelfth summer." He answered simply, staring blankly ahead at the bronze in question.

I was rather taken aback by this. By the size of the armour I had expected him to tell me perhaps seventeen, maybe more.

"You were big for your age!" I almost gasped.

Hector smiled for a moment at my comment. As he still considered the armour his face soon became blank again. I wondered what he was thinking but did not enquire further; I felt it was not my place. However, Hector did not keep me in suspense:

"I wore that suit in my first battle; the very day I took life for the first time."

Perhaps it was the slight tinge of sorrow that quickly flashed across those dark, usually unfathomable eyes; perhaps it was the oddly monotone sound of his voice but I suddenly felt a great sadness for him. I imagined him, a naive yet eager young boy, wanting to prove himself and needing to please his father. I knew little of battle as my father did not describe it to me. This was not a matter of indifference on his part, more a matter of protection. The horrors of war, heard in tales or experienced first-hand, were not for the ears or eyes of children. I understood that well enough.

"Were you scared?" I blurted tactlessly.

Hector's mouth did again twist into a small smile for a moment so at least he did not seem offended that I would ask something so brazen.

I found it telling he did not answer me directly. He proceeded to reel off a strangely official-sounding statement, as if it was the same, vague story he had been telling people for years.

"My father was very proud." Hector continued, looking at me this time. His face performed that now familiar act where his mouth smiled but his eyes did not. I was not fooled. "He said it was the day I became a man."

I lowered my eyes from him, not knowing what to say. I stared at the light, buffed floor watching the flame from a lamp flicker and dance there in hazy reflection. Hector silently rose from his seat, yet my eyes did not follow his path, too fearful was I that he was abruptly taking his leave from me. However, after a matter of moments he returned. He stood before me, holding something rounded and shiny carefully in his hands. I only looked up when he offered the object to me.

It was a bronze helmet, the same as all the others I had seen Hector's men wearing: domed with long nose and cheek guards. I clearly wrinkled my nose in confusion before Hector finally explained:

"It belonged to your father."

I did not hesitate in taking the helmet from him. Fascinated and so very pleased all at the same time, I turned it round in my hands, studying it carefully and smoothing the metal with my fingertips. I hoped I could feel his energy remaining, conducting through the bronze. I was sure I could. How happy it made me feel.

"I am sorry the helmet was not returned to your mother with the rest of your father's armour." Hector said suddenly. I had been so engrossed in the helmet; I had forgotten he was there, still standing before me.

I looked up to him and was pleasantly surprised to find he was smiling too, with _both_ eyes _and_ mouth. It did not register with me until long afterwards that it had pleased him to make me smile.

"Father would have wanted you to have something of his, to remember him by too." I explained truthfully.

I was not upset he had kept it. I was glad he had. Sophus had pawned my father's armour for it's worth in bronze; it would have been smelted down soon afterwards so that helmet was the only thing left – and it had obviously been cared for, seen worthy enough to be kept in that room.

I held it aloft and it handed it back to Hector. He took it and thoughtfully held it up to his face, staring through where a face would have stared back, regarding it almost as if it was my father.

"Have you ever worn it?"

"No. I have not had the heart to." He answered simply as he walked to the helmet's home plinth, placing it back carefully. "Besides," he continued: "Erymas must have had a sizeable skull to house that large brain of his, I fear my own head cannot fill it adequately!" he added with a grin.

I sniggered a little, surprised by Hector's sudden playfulness. Before I knew it, he was standing there before me again, holding his hand out to me.

"Come." He said. "I have something else to show you."

-O-

_PS - You can read the Tale of Frogs and Mice here:_

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	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note: Hello everyone and Happy New Year! Yeaaaahhh, well this Chapter did take me ages, sorry about that. My writing mojo left me for a bit but it appears to have come back. Not sure if this Chapter is any good (or makes much sense!), again I have no proof reader, beta or anything like that. Hope you enjoy and please do review, they do keep me going!_

-O-

As I sat at a long table situated in the very centre of the room, I closed the heavy and worn leather folder that had lay open in front of me a bit of a start. This sudden movement caused a cloud of dust to rise from the crumbling document the folder contained right up into my face and I sneezed quite expectedly as a result. By this time I had already grown used to – even fond of – the unique odour of decaying parchment, flaking inks and old leather. However, I was not so much a fan of how filthy spending a day there made my hands and fingernails as I handled such things. I tried to ignore a sudden itch that niggled the crease of my nose, as to tend to it with my fingers would have caused a dark smear across my face. I wiggled my nose in desperation to try to rid myself of the infuriating sensation, which only caused me to sneeze again.

There was no echo of my sternutation as the walls around me were tightly packed with row upon row of shelves containing bundles, _more_ folders and piles of parchment, pretty much from floor to ceiling which absorbed the noise. These ledges practically creaked under the weight of all the written records, stories, prayers and spells, histories, poetry and wisdom they held.

Perhaps there were not many inquisitive minds or ardent readers at the Palace, I considered dolefully; for I was the only soul in that room, the grand records vault of the palace. Actually, I stand corrected – I was the only _conscious_ soul in that room, it would be very unfair for me not to also count the Librarian, an elderly man named Nereus. He was possibly the oldest person I had ever known, so wizened and bent he resembled a gnarled tree branch.

Although Nereus had never spoken a word to me (I am not sure that he was able), he was very sweet: he was all toothless smiles and compliant nods; he fetched me water when he thought I was thirsty; when I enquired on a subject I wanted to read about, he was surprisingly rapid in locating the source. I found it marvellous that he knew exactly where everything was, as the clutter of documents did not appear to have been filed in any sort of obvious system to my mind. Still, whatever I asked, Nereus was quick to point a bony finger at a shelf, or to fetch me piles of relevant papers, no matter how obscure my requests seemed - and to my surprise, he would even enthusiastically ascend a rickety-looking ladder when required. Mindful of his advanced age and slow hobble, I offered to do this myself but Nereus would not hear of it, always humbly dismissing my help with a gentle shake of his head, combined with that cheery, toothless smile.

After my sneezing fit, I looked over to where Nereus sat near to the large entrance to the records vault. He had fallen asleep: his wrinkled eyes were closed and he was snoring softly. He was leaning back in his high-backed chair slightly, the hand resting on the heavy desk before him twitching as he dreamt. Not even I had disturbed him.

Just as I was considering trying to replace the tome in front of me back on the shelf myself so as not to bother Nereus in his slumber, a lightning-fast brownish blur followed by whoosh of air came close to my head. It startled me and I instinctively ducked. With my head still bowed close to the table, I caught sight of a small speckled downy feather as it lightly floated its way down onto the folder before me. Ah. Bo had just arrived.

Bo was an eagle owl who usually lived on a wooden perch near Nereus' desk, although he was allowed to come and go as he pleased. Bo must have just flown in via one of the high windows after having been out hunting for his dinner, no doubt. I wondered how many rabbits he could swoop on and snatch in a night, he was certainly large enough to easily take on such a task, with his massive talons, sharp black beak and large eyes that glowed alarmingly orange.

I was fascinated and fearful of Bo all at the same time. I would not describe him as a pet, a wild animal now tamed; to me Bo simply tolerated us ridiculous humans. I had once heard that Athena had a companion owl which revealed unseen truths to her: an advantage for a goddess perhaps – but what of a mere mortal, like myself? There were many truths I was certain I did not want to be aware of. Granted, they had tormented me on my first night at the palace and they brought with them nothing but suspicion and nightmares. I now tried not to let any questions play on my mind in the fear that the fruitless pursuit of any answers – or the actual answers themselves - would send me quite mad. Then what would become of me? Locked away and forgotten in some far tower like the King's Hetaerae that Thais gossiped about?

I supposed I was not far off being abandoned in a tower right at that moment – I was sat in a tower alone and feeling slightly forgotten after all. Please do not assume that the records vault was so named as it was situated in some underground, windowless room, for that is not that case. It was referred to as a 'vault' due it's the impressive architecture of a high, arched ceiling. In fact, its location lay directly above the memorial armoury in one of the palace towers.

The first time I had been there, it had been too dark to even see the laden shelves let alone the grand décor but now I fully appreciated the beautiful reaching struts that supported and formed the roof. At every crossing point, there was carved a stone face that stared down at me. Some were female and benevolent, some were very masculine and fierce and the worst were cartoonishly grotesque. The decorated plaster on the ceiling was faded although I could still make out a geometric blue star pattern that had been painstakingly painted up there long ago.

I wondered if this depiction of the night's sky made our resident owl more comfortable. I looked to Bo as he nonchalantly arranged the feathers on his broad wings whilst he got comfortable on his perch. With the black-brown ear tufts sprouting from his head resembling horns, Bo stopped and regarded me not nearly as angrily as usual, before blinking and resuming settling down for a day's rest. Even the bright sunlight streaming in from the high windows did not seem to bother him.

Yes, it was only daytime – morning in fact - but I felt as if I had been up for hours. Over the past few days, I had hoped and waited for sleep to come but it had been elusive. I sighed to myself. The waiting frustrated me; Hector frustrated me. It had been nearly a week since I had seen him and dispirited by this, I was fast beginning to wonder if I would ever see him again.

It had been Hector who had brought me to the records vault, it was the "something else" he wanted to show me after our impromptu little meeting in the memorial armoury below. Since then, I had returned at least once a day in the hopes of seeing him there - but it had been to no avail.

That night was still fresh in my mind, mainly because as it drew on it became something altogether quite bizarre. To begin with however, that evening had started out comfortably enough - perhaps really _that _was strange in itself.

Hector had silently led me by the hand out of the memorial armoury to a narrow set of winding stone stairs which climbed up to the records vault, although at the time I had no idea about where he was taking me. I did not know the Palace well enough to speculate and he did not once give me a clue. He had meant it to be some sort of surprise, I suppose. I remember that I felt quite nervous as we ascended those stairs; I was not as sure footed as he was, it was an unfamiliar place and the lamp flames caused strange black moving shadows in the stairwell which could have easily tricked the eye.

Despite this, I found it fascinating how the dimness and the claustrophobic dimensions of the staircase made other senses other than my sight become more acute. I could smell the mustiness of the vault already yet at that time it was a strange and alien odour to me. I became very aware of Hector's hand holding mine, it was very warm; I could feel callouses across the top of his palm and a strong heart beat reverberating through his large thumb. I knew it was only his grasp that would stop me from tumbling on the uneven stairs which each seemed to have a dip in the middle, worn by hundreds of pairs of feet over hundreds of years most likely. What he wanted to show me was a mystery indeed but never once did I question our path, never once did my trust in him falter.

Finally safely to the top stair, Hector let go of my hand and took a lamp from its holder on the wall as the room before us was totally in darkness. Sadly, the small torch only really illuminated a small, dim pool of light directly around us. Hector turned to look at my face expectantly but enveloped in the shadows that the evening brought, wherever we were seemed like a cave to me. It was terribly humid and the musty smell in the risen heat was almost overpowering. I wrinkled my nose in reaction and frowned in my bafflement. This seemed to frustrate Hector. He exhaled heavily, his broad shoulders hunching, his eyes darkening.

"You can read - YES?" he asked gruff and suddenly impatient. He was not looking at me now, he was running a hand through his curls and looking at the ceiling in slight exasperation – I only later considered that he might have been a little embarrassed by just how distinctly underwhelmed I was, clearly not the expected or intended reaction.

This was the rudest that Hector had ever been to me in our short period of acquaintance. I did not know whether to be outraged or upset. I just stood there, my eyebrows raised in disbelief, wondering how and why his benign temperament had changed so swiftly.

Perhaps the look on my face made Hector realised how curt he had just been towards me as his shoulders softened slightly. Perhaps he realised he had not explained himself very eloquently – or that I was not astute as he had perhaps given me credit for.

"Erymas once told me that he had taught you how to read and write." Hector said much less harshly, although his eyes still had a keen urgency about them.

"Yes." I almost whispered with an affirmative nod, still a little upset and wondering where he was going with this strange line of questioning.

"I suppose you cannot see much of it at the moment as it is too dark but this is the records vault of the palace. If you take enjoyment from reading, I thought you may like to spend some time here. Granted there are some incredibly boring documents on the shelves … trade agreements with the Hittites for instance … those are the ones I unfortunately mainly deal with … although there is some poetry, stories, legends … that sort of thing … if you look hard enough." He rambled, his pupils widening as his gaze projected out into the in the shaded room.

I was bewildered. I had indeed enjoyed reading, although it had been some time since I had indulged. After father's death I was listless in my enthusiasm and lately, with all the drama with Sophus, I had not been inclined. Still, reading is not something one can unlearn, I suppose. I was flustered into silence and slightly unnerved at Hector's perceptiveness. How could he even remember such things my father must have told him years ago, in passing? Knowing that the Army Captain's young daughter was literate would have been such an insignificant titbit of information for him, after all.

Hector continued to rattle on, something that I began to find rather charming as I had always imagined and experienced him to be such a self-possessed character. Right then however, he seemed anxious: "After seeing you at the banquet tonight, I thought this might be an alternative from the norm for you … the Librarian Nereus is here during the day … he will help you find anything you want. He is rather aged, do not be alarmed. We have offered him retirement numerous times of course but he refuses to relinquish the post he loves so dearly … I do not want you to think ill of us for putting an old man to work …"

"No, of course not my Lord" I mumbled, not really taking in what Hector was telling me nor considering what was coming from my own mouth. What was the 'norm' for crying out loud?

I then realised Hector was walking, leading me across the front of the room, the light from his lamp flickering like a guide on the floor, past a large desk by what must have been a main entrance and towards the landing of a larger, wider staircase leading to some other unknown place. Would the palace ever stop feeling like a maze and start feeling like my home? I concentrated hard on memorising the routes Hector was taking me for the hopes I may, one day, actually be able to find my way back there. It seemed like an impossible feat at that moment.

"… Not Lord or Prince, Phile … not to you. Just call me Hector, remember?" Hector requested gently.

He had stopped at the top of the landing. Those words – and the manner in which he said them - marked a sudden change in his temperament back to something more affable and less uneasy. It jolted me from my furious concentration and I naturally looked to him. He now was bathed in the orange glow of the many lamps that dotted down the wall of that particular staircase rather than just the previous dim, solitary one he had held. I could see that he was no longer frowning – and he could see the embarrassing reddening blush on my cheeks.

"Remember?" he reiterated again with his eyebrows raised in eagerness and an alluring smile playing on his face.

Of course I did - that night, before he joined me in my bed for the first and only time, he had asked me to call him by his name. How could I forget?

"Of course not - _Hector_" I replied bashfully, self-consciously correcting my previous mistake.

Hector thoughtfully yet unexpectedly stepped towards me. "I like the way you say my name." he breathed.

I looked up to him, hoping he could not detect me tremble slightly as he brought up his right hand and affectionately caressed the top of my head with his large palm before his fingers travelled softly down my cheek. I closed my eyes in pleasure at his touch. I expected him kiss me. I _wanted_ him to kiss me. Instead he tenderly ran his thumb ever so gently over my bottom lip. I felt it awaken the prickly stirring sensation from my loins up to my spine although I could not help but to exhale audibly in longing for his lips instead. I only opened my eyes when I felt him remove his thumb. I was disappointed of course and wondered why he teased me so. I had to settle with Hector taking my hand once more as he led me down the other flight of stairs. The moment was over.

As we neared the bottom step, Hector asked:

"Do you recognise where you are yet?" as if he had read my disorientated, mused thoughts earlier regarding the intricate and warren like network of staircases and hallways in the palace.

I frowned in contemplation. My cranium was now pounding a distracting beat – perhaps it had been the brief excitement and subsequent frustration after Hector's touch had brought so much promise? Was it a rush of blood to the head due to just plain tiredness? Maybe it _was_ just because the palace layout did confound me so much?

"Do not worry." Hector continued, giving my hand a brief and reassuring squeeze when I did not answer him: "Soon the palace will be as familiar to you as the lines on your palm, I promise."

As we turned a sharp right down another corridor, I happened to glance out of a window and immediately recognised the naked lady fountain in the South Courtyard, glowing softly as the silver moonlight seemed to bathe her and the very tops of the bushes out there. I knew my location then - we were near the Great Hall and Hector was definitely leading me towards my apartment. My confused mood suddenly darkened. What if he intended to join me there? I suddenly recalled the awkward way Hector dominantly pinned me to the bed, the surge of pain as he invaded me – then the blood, the embarrassment. I shuddered. I did not desire that again – but I did desire _something_; and it was vexingly intangible to me. How terribly anxious I became that he would join me in my chamber - but at the same time I would be so terribly disappointed if Hector did not. It was a dilemma indeed and I was bothered that this man already held such a sway over me.

As we stood before the door of my quarters, Hector bid me a simple "Goodnight". His voice sounded suddenly so distant and my heart sank as I realised that he definitely did not mean to come in. I felt slighted and repellent. I was not totally despairing at this point, actually I found myself annoyed with Hector. I felt as if he was toying with me, tempting me then letting me down for his own amusement. It was extremely infuriating.

"So you do not wish to come in?" I still stuttered sullenly, prolonging my own misery and trying not to sound desperate or needy although I doubt it came across as cavalierly as I had hoped. Why was I asking when I already knew the answer?

At that moment, I could only find the courage to stare straight ahead whilst Hector certainly rejected me. All I could see before me was Hector's chest, he was so tall. It seemed twice as broad as my own slight shoulder width and I noticed he wore nothing around his neck, no golden necklace and no garland. Instead, peeking from his robe I could see a hint of tanned, taught skin, smattered with hair. Not realising how provocative this was to me at the time, the sight of his bare flesh simply brought to my still-naïve mind ripe fruit just asking to be bitten. I could not look to his face because I could not bear to see an expression of pity or wretchedness play across his face again, the same face he had after he had tried to deflower someone he found so terribly unattractive – me. Even worse than that, I could not bear it if his face held an air of indifference. I could feel the gaze of those black eyes burning on me though.

"No Phile. You look tired and I have to rise early tomorrow." Hector replied carefully before adding: "So do you I imagine, seeing as Korina will be your wake-up call!" He seemed to jest casually then, no doubt an attempt to lighten the strained situation. This seemed to stick the dagger of disenchantment further into my gut before giving it a twist for good measure.

"Will you _ever _wish to come in?" I muttered irritably. A bold-faced question yes, but I just had to know. I am sure he could detect my resentment towards him; I was never very good at masking my temper. He did not reply immediately, considering a tactful and sensitive answer no doubt.

Suddenly, there came a voice from down the dark corridor, wavering and ethereal - interrupting us. I dare say Hector had been relieved.

"Brother!" it called, seemingly disembodied before a figure floated into view out of the gloom. She seemed to glide towards us soundlessly, her light gown diaphanously draping her figure. She was thin in the way people who live on their nerves are, although her face was remarkable, so very pale that it seemed to loom in the dark. It was framed with unbrushed thick dark hair and her eyes were so wide they were wild. I was certainly startled for a moment, stonily rooted to the spot as my eyes followed her path – I assumed I was seeing a spectre of sorts. But in the few seconds it took for the woman to near closer to us, I was relieved to see she was a solid person. She smiled warmly at Hector and embraced him very fondly, almost violently in her enthusiasm. He seemed almost as taken aback as I was; he clearly was not expecting to see this woman.

"Hector!" she teased, still with her arms tight around him: "you have not been to visit me in days! How is Andromache? What scrapes has Jasper got himself into now? I need to hear all the news!"

I was suddenly rather suspicious of this very strange woman; who was she and why she was so familiar with Hector? Then I scolded myself for that particular stupidity – she did just call him 'brother'! Perhaps I was more tired than I first realised, perhaps Hector had not been making an excuse.

"First thing is first, Cassandra" Hector laughed as he untangled himself from her. He straightened himself up and gestured to where I stood "I have company. This is …"

Cassandra turned to me and gazed calmly at my face in a way that I found overfamiliar. Her eyes were almost as dark and unfathomable as her brother's although not as focussed perhaps. Her mouth blossomed into a full smile then, as if she recognised me. I was puzzled. There was definitely something about Cassandra that was not quite right. I am ashamed to say I actually pondered whether she was drunk.

"Oh, I know who she is, brother. I saw her coming, I just did not know when".

"Cassandra …" Hector replied with a definite edge of warning in his voice, his brow furrowing in concern.

Clearly she had crossed some unspoken boundary already, although she did not seem to heed his admonition. She placed a long thin hand gently on my shoulder and her eyes suddenly became glassy as she addressed me again, more serious this time.

"Phile - like Theia, sister-wife of Hyperion, you will bring forth the sun"

"Cassandra, _please_! You will scare the poor girl!" Hector chided, raising his eyes quickly to the ceiling and back again in exasperation. He seemed to do a lot of that.

She did not witness this as she had still not taken her own eyes from me, clearly undaunted at slightly arousing Hector's fury. She looked thoughtful, almost stoical as she gazed at me whilst she replied to him: "Scare her? She is determined and fearless like you, brother. Or at least, she will be."

I was dumbfounded. I did not know what any of her words meant or her rationale behind saying them. She seemed to be lucid although not totally stable so perhaps they were not worth dwelling on altogether. Baffled, rather than enlightened, I hardly realised that Hector had excused himself quickly from my company, taking his sister with him.

"Father would not be pleased if he knew you were roaming the corridors alone at night, wearing nothing but your nightgown!" he scolded Cassandra as she linked her arm through his grudgingly and he led her away.

That was the last time I saw Hector.

-O-

_Footnote: Bo the owl was inspired by Bubo in the 1981 film, Clash of the Titans. I LOVE him (and the film, have done since I was a kid). To my joy, the film was on TV over Christmas! ;o)_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's Note:** Yeaaaahhh. So, you might have noticed but it's taken me ages, this. Sorry. I kind of run out of steam, then had a load of new ideas about the plot as if I had been taking LSD or something (I haven't, more caffeine and nicotine). The next one should be too long after, life permitting as it's already partially written. Anyways, reviews would be nice as always but also as always, I have no beta, proofreader etc. therefore this chapter may lead to brain hurt of the confusing kind. I hope not!_

**-0-**

Ouch! I had managed to prick my finger on the needle _yet_ again. I was forced to supress the frustrated curses that formed on my lips and convert them into a single stifled and irritated sigh. It was only proper, after all seeing as I was currently in polite company, after all.

I turned over the small willow hoop that my embroidery piece was stretched out on to study the back of my handiwork and it turned out it was already a confusion of crossed threads, knots and pulls. The front was sadly not much better: my stitches were crude and of randomly haphazard size. Surely even a child would not prove to be such a novice I thought hopelessly.

The day before, armed with my needle and thread, I had uncharacteristically attacked my bare, unsullied cotton with aplomb - I had been determined to persevere and teach myself this particular art rather than just to surrender, as usual, at the first hint of failure. In retrospect, it had been a vain belief that fostering an interest in embroidery might actually make it less tedious for me. That previous and momentary enthusiasm for sewing had soon morphed into my usual defeatism. Hardly a surprise I suppose: I hated the quiet monotony of it; I disliked being terrible at it; I _especially_ loathed being confined inside all day, trapped with so many other women, who literally had nothing to do other than make trivial small talk and gossip whilst carrying out such repetitive and wholly boring pursuits themselves.

Embroidering (along with weaving) was the primary daytime pastime for females of the palace it seemed. Day in and day out, they would while away the hours here in this room, without complaint. My eyes flickered up away from my work for a moment and I realised the group of girls sitting near the door (also Hetaerae themselves), looked comfortable and happy, far removed from how I was feeling. I was a bit of a misfit admittedly but I did not need an afternoon sitting in the Gynaeceum to tell me that.

The Gynaeceum - the room – was a place reserved for queens and princesses; ladies of the court; their own ladies-in waiting and Hetaerae. Classically, the women were kept in the Gynaeceum to protect them from non-kin males for their own safety. However, in my years at the palace - a more genteel time in the history of Troy where the men of the palace were said to be more respectful of the 'weaker' sex - its function was to simply keep the women out of the way whilst the men of the palace performed whatever daily businesses they were tasked with - it was just so the women would not prove to be a distraction for them: for what man wants the humiliation of a nagging spouse when he is trying to broker a merchant deal in court? What man attending the King wants the embarrassment when his immediate attention is diverted by the shapely bottom or a pendulous bust of a passing high-born lady? What man wants his wife around when he is seducing that pretty young servant that has just bought him some wine? The temptations they had to endure must have been very tiring for them, the poor lambs.

I did not enjoy being in the Gynaeceum, although this does not mean it was an uncomfortable place – it was in fact spacious but rather cosy, the decoration comfortably feminine in style. Sweet incense burning gave off a relaxing aroma and soft rugs in pretty light hues covered the floors. Gossamer curtains were hung from the ceiling here and there in case, for some reason, privacy was needed although I never actually saw any being pulled across to section off the room, it always remained convivial and open. Besides, the windows running down the length of the right hand wall continuously had their delicately fret-worked shutters closed for discretion anyway. These added a certain dimness to the room which was not conducive to any sort of closely-worked craft so the Gynaeceum was well lit from many oil lamps dotted around on tall stands and hanging from chains attached to the ceiling. It did secretly amuse me that despite these shutters letting through an infinitesimal amount of sunlight, most of the ladies present deliberately sat away from the windows. They mostly crowded the left side of the room, concerned that any rays, even such a miniscule amount, might darken their skin – it was fashionable for the upper-class woman for her skin to look as pale as possible, believe it or not, because a tan was so very common, especially for the hoi polloi of Troy. To be pale was to be superior. Vanity seemed to be engrained in these women and I wondered if this was because they had nothing else to think about in the vacuous caverns of their minds apart from the dreariness of sewing and weaving. Personally, I preferred sitting close to the windows with my legs daintily (for me anyway) tucked to one side atop a huge, comfortable cushion. The most enjoyment I gained from being there was the sweet breeze that flowed through the shutters. As a sun-kissed forehead or a freckled nose had never bothered me before, I was not about to let palace living change me so much that it would actually start being a concern once I was part of the royal residence, I thought stubbornly.

I was not sat alone as Thais had taken it upon herself to sit with me. Although I had formerly found her a little irritating, I had soon learnt that she was quite kindhearted and I was thankful that I had a companion so I did not look like such a pariah. We had chatted occasionally although for quite a while now, Thais had been absolutely engrossed in her sewing and therefore silent. I knew she had set herself a target of where to be finished in her progress before the Gynaeceum vacated for the afternoon rest time so there she sat, studiously trying to reach her goal, frowning so hard in concentration that I feared her whole forehead would crack, with the tip of her tongue stuck out absently as she attempted some stitches much more elaborate than my own skill would allow. She resembled a little bird, all perched on her own pillow and I was a little envious of her resolve. "She will be determined and fearless" Cassandra had said about me. Hector's sister should have perhaps noticed that my indolence might get in the way.

At this time, the whole room was largely silent, apart from the noise of the Governess snoring softly as she lay on a chaise near to where the biggest group of Hetaerae sat (gathered around Acantha, of course). I am guessing that the position of Hetaire Governess was not too challenging as all she seemed to do was to nap or in her waking moments, continuously devour candied fruit. I actually found myself less malevolent towards her for a moment when I considered that sleeping and eating must result in such a boring life. Yet, as I observed the sight of her fat mass lolloping on the chaise (which was far from a pretty sight) and heard the grating noise of her snoring, it was not long until my silent loathing of her revived. Strange then, how this repellant spectacle and sound did not seem to bother Princess Andromache, who was also in the room, graceful and expressionless in a stout chair with a handmaiden sat at her feet. In fact, she was positioned nearly opposite me and to the left of the 'Mound of Snores'. Not even my presence appeared to bother her in the slightest, which I would not have expected (as her husband's new lover – or supposed new lover – I would have assumed that she would not stand the sight of me). The handmaiden was busy untangling a bunch of coloured threads whilst the Princess looked to be contentedly working on quite a large piece, possibly decorating a blue robe or cloak as it flowed from where she held it in her hand to across her lap then partially down her legs, like a fountain of stiffening water.

The Princess, her lady-in-waiting, Hetaerae, the Governess - for almost all of these women, it was obligatory to be present every day at the Gynaeceum. It was tradition and therefore automatically expected. Unlike me, many of these women had grown up in palaces or in a large house with their own Gynaeceum, therefore attendance was for them was simply a routine, typical part of daily life that was never really questioned. You are correct if you recall that as Hetaerae, it was not mandatory for me to spend my days there although I suppose it probably was presumed I would. Despite being allowed much freedom for women, almost all the other Hetaerae were in attendance. At first I thought of them to be foolish to frittering away their privileges but it quickly dawned on me that they attended the Gynaeceum to conform, to 'fit-in'. Even though I detested it, this is why I endeavored to attend the Gynaeceum myself, for at least for an hour or two, once-a-day as I could see such a strategy was not useless. One could definitely benefit from prominence in the Gynaeceum – there was camaraderie. The women there also seemed to partake in more applied accord - sharing skills, offering advice, even to the point of coming together to look after the children.

There was even a large corner of the room dedicated to the young daughters of Troy, laid out with nursing chairs, cots, blankets and toys where wet nurses and maids (occasionally the mothers themselves) looked after and played with the female infants and toddlers. I realised these children belonged to ladies of the court and that some _must_ be the offspring of Hetaerae – therefore illegitimate but there were no obvious distinctions in this by the way the girls were treated. They were all looked after impeccably and were certainly not segregated. I do not know why but I did find some comfort in this. The male offspring were notably absent of course – the boy babies being taken care of elsewhere and the sons being actually schooled to be men of Troy.

My eyes were suddenly drawn to the babies' corner. Most of the toddlers were taking a nap or laid out in a row under fleecy blankets on the floor. One girl's podgy little hands were raised to her temples during peaceful slumber in a kind of surrendering pose, the little fingers contracting and loosening as she slept. A wet nurse was suckling a small infant, who was only weeks old, discreetly covering her exposed breast and feeding infant with a gauzy scarf as she rocked the baby back and forth. Under the light material, I could see that the little one already had quite a head of fine, dark hair and I suddenly wondered if any of the children were illegitimates of Hector. I knew he had not fathered any with his wife yet but what about before he was married? What about dalliances with Palake servants? Both were feasible, seeing as the aristocratic men of Troy could seemingly please themselves and Hector probably took after his father – a man he bore a very strong resemblance to - and who had a reported reproductive flair in fathering fifty sons and who knows how many daughters. Who was to say the Prince did not take after the King in that respect, too? I was under no illusion that all of Hector's siblings were legitimate as one woman could not have physically been able to produce so many children in her lifetime, unless she gave birth to a large litter every few months like a rabbit, I scoffed to myself as I turned my attentions back on my embroidery that had been discarded in my lap in favour of my daydreams.

A baby that was previously asleep in a cot slowly stirred and began to emit a mewling cry. The noise jolted me out of my mental meanderings and perhaps a primal female urge from somewhere deep within made me look over concernedly to the corner. The very same urge must have struck the Princess as our eyes somehow met during this time. It was strange – Andromache's hazel eyes regarded me rather mildly so I found it difficult to tear my own gaze away. She smiled quite delicately before she actually spoke to me.

"Phile – may I take a look at your work?" she asked suddenly, although very politely.

I froze. How shaming it would be to present my mess to her, although I could obviously not decline her invitation! I could do nothing but slowly rise from my cushion and tentatively step over to her chair. For some reason, I felt like a child about to be disciplined, even though the Princess had given me no reason to think this. In fact, no other person in the room apparently found her invitation out-of-the-ordinary or suspicious like I did, as nobody seemed to look up from their tasks, not even Thais. Was it usual for the wife to speak with the Hetaerae? If so, had I been rude in not acknowledging her before? The protocols of the Palace were still mysterious and stressful for me. I held my embroidery behind my back, hoping Andromache would notice I was reluctant to show her and it was because I was embarrassed of it rather than out modesty. She did not. My heart sank as, after I had straightened myself out from a courteous bow of greeting before her, I saw she had her slender hand held out for it expectantly. I dutifully handed the small hoop of cotton and chaos to her, presuming that the Princess would laugh at it, frown in puzzlement or at least offer a few words of mocking critique. None of those things happened. Those wise l eyes actually seemed to appraise my work and the smile she still bore did not seem false.

"I am afraid I am not very good, my lady. I did not practice enough as a child". I mumbled nervously in excuse before she could speak again.

Andromache looked to me, a knowing arch of an eyebrow betraying her otherwise serene face.

She leant forward slightly and spoke softly, as if I were some sort of co-conspirator: "I grew up the only daughter in a household of seven brothers - I can assuredly say that I did not practice enough either! Whatever my brothers were up to seemed far more interesting."

It was whispered for the sake of confidentiality in such a crowded room, lest it belie the outward vision of Andromache's proprietary. The handmaiden at her feet heard of course and smiled to herself, no doubt having heard this little confession before.

I laughed a little I think, mainly out of relief that she was not as patronising as I had probably expected. I immediately felt a little more at ease.

Andromache looked to my sewing again: "He is a fine owl" she declared much more loudly about it and I have absolutely no doubt that was particularly for the benefit of the 'audience' in the room. She meant _not_ to humiliate me and I was very grateful.

I had indeed been trying to recreate the image of an owl, although it was much more difficult to attain than I had imagined. I was quite taken aback she could see what my untidy stiches were supposed to resemble – even to me, it looked like a brown blob of gravy with two comically crossed-eyes. I thanked her graciously for her kind words, really not knowing what to say next. However, even though I had not witnessed her speaking much before, Andromache was clearly quite an expert at preventing a conversation drying up.

"He looks like the owl that lives in the Records Vault" she said pointedly, handing me back my hoop with a nod of reference "– do you spend a lot of time there?"

It seemed like an innocent enough enquiry although it did make me wonder what Hector had told her. I assumed he would probably never talk of me to his wife. Perhaps I was wrong.

"At the moment my lady, I try to split my time between the Vault, attending here and going for a walk in the South Courtyard after afternoon rest time". I answered honestly as she looked genuinely interested.

Just as I had finished my sentence, a jeering splutter was emitted from somewhere in the direction of the main group of Hetaerae, Acantha's little gang of course (probably Acantha herself – for who else would have had the audacity in the presence of the Princess?). I cannot lie; my feelings were hurt that someone would want to belittle me so much as to make me look like a fool in front of Andromache. Were the ways I spent my days _that_ laughable? Did they all dislike me _that_ much?

Andromache did not mock along with them. She too had heard the derision and did not look pleased with the insulting interjection either.

"Well Phile, I do not blame you. Spending all day in the Gynaeceum can be so _dull_; I find it can make one very _small-minded_ if other interests are not explored." She declared loudly and emphatically so all could hear, in subtle defense of me. That certainly silenced Acantha's corner, I can tell you!

I was touched by her kindness and support, especially as it had been so unexpected. I smiled and nodded a quick 'thank you'. Andromache then went onto casually enquire what I had been reading in the Records Vault. This was difficult. If we had been alone with no prying ears to hear my answer, you must understand that I would have told her the truth; it was wrong of me to lie to a person who had been so genuine. Yet I admit that I did fib, only as I was fearful of more derision from the others. I told the Princess that I had been reading about Troy's own legends, the glorious ones that are sung about in the Great Hall. I told her that even though my father had told me the tales as I child, I wanted to refresh my memory.

The truth was, I had been reading medicinal and apocathary papers. The passages I had already learned from - mainly about practicing medicine using the physical resources of nature - were actually deemed as archaic, seldom used in favour of invasive wound stitching, uncompromising tourniquets or amputation and modern, magical potions dreamed up by male priests and superstitious gypsies. I had never been particularly ill in my life to side with one method or the other, although I remembered that as a child, whenever I was clumsy enough to be brushed by nettles or unfortunate enough to be bitten by an insect, mother always managed to find the right remedy to ease the itching and swelling using just the leaves and herbs in the garden. For every ailment nature inflicted, the perfect solution could be found there too. How did mother know such things? I assume that the knowledge was passed down through the generations, mothers to daughters. Using natural remedies for medicine was, I believe, always practiced by females until our society developed over hundreds of years from communing in small tribal settlements to eventually living cheek by jowl in sprawling cultured cities like Troy. The birth of the patriarchal society eventually discouraged and suppressed knowledge being handed down as I describe: in such a bustling, governed and hierarchical culture, women were required to look after their children, households and husbands, not to waste their precious time educating themselves or others. What mother knew and the sparse amount she had taught me about healing was a deep rooted but faint echo of times long past, discarded for the sake of progress. An unfortunate sign of the times.

My inspiration for this self-teaching was the dream I had, where I had been 'mending' Hector. At that time, I had assumed that the dream's meaning was just as black-and-white as physical healing. I thought that perhaps that it wasmy _true_ purpose, seeing as I did not appear useful to my Kyrios in any other capacity: he did not require companionship, he did not want to be entertained, and he did not wish for a lover I had concluded, seeing as he had not come to me for any of these things, the reasons I was there for as his Hetaerae.

"It is admirable that you are broadening you horizons, Phile." Andromache praised.

In my mind, she was being too charitable of me. Thinking of Hector, I felt guilt about being the imposed 'third wheel' in her relationship with him, especially now Andromache had been nothing but congenial towards me. I could not help but lower my eyes glumly at this thought. As I held my hoop of sewing loosely in front of me in one hand, I traced the messy stiches with a finger from the other hand distractedly.

Andromache must have gotten the impression that I was still rueful for my poor skills at sewing I think, as she leant forward to say:

"Do not fret Phile. There is a new sewing mistress starting at the palace tomorrow, I think you will definitely …" she paused as if trying to find the right word, her eyes darting to the right for a moment and a strange knowing smile playing on her lips. The handmaiden, still dutifully untangling threads for her mistress did not look up but smiled too, as if she was in on some sort of secret. She quickly continued and I began to believe I had just imagined her suspect pause "…. well, I think you will definitely _benefit_ from spending some one-on-one time with her. So I do hope I will see you here tomorrow?"

"Of course my lady". I agreed dutifully. I had to oblige, no matter what an unwelcome prospect it was. She was the Princess after all – and quite fairly believed my sewing needed practice, despite her praise. I could not have agreed more about that, I was just dismayed at the prospect of spending more time in the Gynaeceum. I was not quite yet resigned to such a dreary, hum-drum life. Perhaps I _was_ more determined than I thought.

**-0-**

_**Footnote:** a couple of you seemed pleased that I had portrayed Andromache as a nice lady, which I think she is and she certainly is in my story so I thought I would build that up a bit. Don't worry though, Hector lovers - he may be notably absent in this chapter (as he is in Phile's life at this time - he he!) but he's back for the next. Keep reading and don't give up on me! ;o)_


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